


Devil Side

by This_kitty_has_claws



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers
Genre: 18 and older content in parts, Adult Language, Adult Situations, Angst, Blood and Gore, Cheating, Emotional Affair, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Kidnapping, NSFW, Obsessive Behavior, Please Proceed With Caution, Pregnancy, Super Angst, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Violent situations, graphic content, love child, major character death (s), stalker behavior, story has the potential to trigger, there may be smut, triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 49,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_kitty_has_claws/pseuds/This_kitty_has_claws
Summary: After a rough mission Bucky comes home to you broken, he pulls away from you, stays out late, comes home drunk and smelling like alcohol and cheap perfume, you confront him about his behavior, Bucky reacts in a way you did not expect, and it destroys your relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

You were seated on the loveseat in front of the television, your slender calves tucked underneath you, a warm faux fur blanket thrown haphazardly over your small frame with hair knotted in a high bun. Your favorite fuzzy pink pajamas bringing little comfort. It was almost four am. The clock ticking menacingly on the wall reminding you that this was the third time this week Bucky had failed to come home to you. Sighing deeply, ignoring the tears pooling in your eyes, you reach for your phone, hoping he had sent a message, telling you where he was at the very least. 

Swiping at the screen, the glaring emptiness of your inbox was apparent. Not a single text from your boyfriend, not a missed call, nothing. You hurl your phone at the wall, watching as it smashes to pieces, bits of plastic raining onto the carpet. Immediately regretting your fit of pique, the shame blossoming in your chest has you rubbing your tired eyes gently. You settle back into the couch, staring at the door as your hand drops to your lap, fidgeting absent mindedly with the edge of the throw. 

It hasn't always been this way. Your relationship with Bucky had been a happy one, filled with laughter and love, respect and understanding. Granted, Bucky had never been an easy man to get along with. His PTSD and survivor's guilt had plagued him nightly, manifesting in the most garish nightmares. He would flail and scream, waking drenched in sweat, eyes wild and fists clenched. He would brood for days after an episode, refusing to touch you, sometimes moving back into the tower only to come back after a couple of days. You had accepted him as he was, loved him for his flaws, his humor, his sense of morality. Bucky Barnes was inherently good, no matter how often he claimed he was a monster, you had never believed him. 

The change had started two months ago after a particularly rough mission. he wouldn’t or couldn’t give you details, but he had stared vacantly at a wall for twelve hours, sending you into a panic when you couldn't pull him out of it. Eventually you had to call Steve who talked Bucky back into the world of the living. 

You had joked that he came back just to make Steve shut up, but Bucky didn't even attempt to smile. A small part of you knew then, just knew, you had lost him. 

It got progressively worse from there. He would stay out late, come home smelling like Bourbon and perfume, the stale smell of smoke lingering on his clothes. At first you confronted him, demanded an explanation for his actions. Bucky would merely sit quietly on the couch, not answering your demands for answers, before he would rise and lock himself in the bedroom, leaving you to cry alone. 

It was the beginning of the end, one night a week turned to two, then three. He would barely talk to you, wouldn't look at you, until he barely came home at all. 

Pain. It's such a broad term. Everything from physical to mental anguish falls under the word. It conjures up cuts and bruises, heart break and illness, yet it couldn't describe what it was you felt when Bucky started to distance himself from you. It felt like heat, hot flames licking at your insides, burning a white path to your chest. It felt like knives, deliberately pushed into a raw exposed nerve. It felt like isolation, rejection, loneliness. Somewhere in your gut you knew that it was going to come to a head, and tonight would be the determining factor in your relationship. 

The soft click of the door pulls you out of your head, your eyes focusing on the figure stumbling through it, his blue eyes red rimmed. You could smell the alcohol from your seat on the couch. Cheap cigarettes and perfume waft with it making you gag. You close your eyes tightly for there was no denying it anymore. You knew what he was doing, or at least assumed. It didn't matter either way, you needed answers, needed an explanation for the distance, for the turmoil he was causing. 

“Did you have fun?” you ask softly. “Did it make you forget?” 

Bucky grunts, his metal fist clenched at his side. “I’m not in the mood for this,” he answers, throwing his keys nonchalantly in the bowl by the door. “I wanna go to bed, we can talk in the morning.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “It is morning, James, and there’s no time like the present,” you reply calmly, covering the hurt with a mask of neutrality. Rising to your feet and closing the distance between you, raising a hand lightly to his face, just to touch, to soothe. You needed to feel him, just once. It had been so long since his smooth skin was underneath your fingertips, but he flinches away from you, his eyes set in a cold glare, slightly glazed from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. You swallow down the sob the action brings, dropping your hand limply to your side. “Please let me help you, Bucky, I can't stand seeing you like this,” pleadingly, voice filled with emotion, you almost delude yourself into thinking his eyes soften, that his shoulders relax, but the emotion is gone before you can process it replaced by burning anger. 

“You can't help me! You are the problem!” he roars. “Leave me the fuck alone!” 

Instinctively you grab his arm to pull him close, to offer comfort, your hindbrain not communicating the dangers fast enough. 

Before you can process whats happening, you’re slammed into a wall, your head bouncing off of it harshly. Stars burst in front of you, a low moan of pain sounds in your chest. Your hair is suspiciously wet as Bucky’s metal fist slams repeatedly into the wall next to your face, drilling a hole in it. Chunks of plaster and chips of paint fall onto the floor while Bucky snarls viciously into your face. 

Breathing rapidly, eyes wide with fear, your entire body shakes violently. You had never been afraid of him, never once had you thought he would hurt you, but you watch his eyes as he seems to come to, come back from whatever dark place he’d disappeared into. 

Realisation dawns, brings revulsion at himself, his actions. Remorse and guilt fill his face as he raises his flesh hand to your face. 

You whimper and flinch away, trying to hunch in yourself as he comes closer. You hear him suck in a sharp breath before he steps away from you. You don't dare look at him, nor do you speak. 

“Baby-” he stutters, his eyes wet with tears. 

Shoving from the wall, you run as fast as you can. The door of your shared apartment bounces heavily in the frame as you slam it behind you. Fear and adrenaline pushing you to run faster. Blood is dripping down your collar, staining the pink of your pajama top red. Hailing a taxi through a haze of tears and delirious rambling, you tell the driver to take you to the one man that could protect you from Bucky, or so you hoped. 

Trembling noticeably, your breathing labored, the taxi speeds down the streets of New York, taking you to your former home, the one place you had always felt safe. To your team, your family. 

You needed to get to Steve. 

The cab screeches to a halt in front of Stark Tower, and you clamber out unsteadily, tossing the driving a twenty in your haste. It's started to rain, the heavy droplets soaking you to the bone in mere seconds. You bite down on your lip softly, the realisation suddenly hitting you that you couldn't tell Steve what had happened with Bucky settles uneasily in your stomach. 

Bucky was on temoultus ground as it was. Ripping Steve away from him would have severe consequences. He may even revert back to the Winter Soldier. No matter what he’d done, you couldn’t be responsible for that. 

Sinking slowly to your knees on the curb, your body racked with silent tears, you decide not to tell Steve, but you couldn't go home. You were stuck and alone. 

You stay that way for what feels like an eternity before steadily rising to your feet. tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear, then you enter the building, informing F.R.I.D.A.Y you would be staying in your old room.

The world and everything in it could wait till morning.


	2. Chapter 2

“I know you’re awake, (Y/N),” Bucky says softly, his voice restrained, neutral, emotions kept firmly in check. He’s been sitting in an arm chair for the last half hour, staring intently at your apparently sleeping form. 

You sigh and sit up, meeting his eyes dead on. Refusing to let the fear you feel rise to the surface, you adopt the persona that had been beaten into you, the one surviving the red room had taught you. Years of training and killing had molded you into a heartless assassin, one who could flirt like a pro, take down a target with a look, have him under your spell in seconds. You could kill without remorse, not a shred of humanity to be found as you stared your victim in the eye. 

For the moment, Bucky was simply another mark to be handled. 

You regard him coolly, smoothing down the plain cotton sheets which were burritoed around you. When you’re satisfied, you place your hands in your lap, cock your head to the side, and wait for him to say something, anything really. 

He finally breaks, running a hand through his hair. It was a nervous tick, one he had adopted when he moved into the tower. You’d been assigned to reintroduce him into society, to make sure nothing went awry and it was slow going at first. He would barely speak to you, barely look in your direction. It was nothing, you were unnaturally accustomed to silence, years of being alone, mission after mission, kill after kill had left you uniquely qualified to help Bucky. 

You had bonded quickly after he realised that you, too, had been used and mistreated, your identity wiped out, brutalised and sold by your own parents for personal gain, made to murder, your gifts used to bring men to their knees, to topple empires, you had been given the serum and your mental abilities gave you an edge. 

“I didn’t mean to lose control,” he finally speaks, his eyes pleading. 

You raise an eyebrow, throw the covers back, and get out of bed. Striding to the window, looking out at the vibrant city, you envied them their simplicity, having nothing more to worry about than bills and their loved ones. “What happened on the last mission, James?” you ask. Your voice sounds dead to your ears, no inflection, no joy. 

He hesitates. “I can't tell ya, doll. It’s classified.” He almost sounds sorry, but you know him too well. 

You can see through the lie. Suppressing the scoff, you turn to face him, dreading the answer to your next question, dreading that your fears would finally be confirmed. “Who is she, Bucky? The woman you replaced me with?” 

His face falls, his entire being deflating at the question. Shoulders sagging, he blows out a shaky breath, eyes refusing to meet yours. “Please don't. Don't ask me that,” he replies, his head in his hands. 

You feel oddly detached, like you’re an observer in your own life as his words cut so deep the pain is almost blinding. There’s a scream bubbling in your throat and the overwhelming urge to knock his ass into the ground, but somehow you manage to keep it together. “Who is she, James? I will find out one way or another.” 

He nods, knowing it’s true, gaze trained on the floor. “Her name is Ivanna. She works at a bar in Brooklyn.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart threatening to tear itself from your chest. “Did you sleep with her?” 

Bucky’s eyes snap to yours, hurt shining in them. He snorts in disbelief, before shaking his head in the negative, like it was a foolish question to ask. 

“Is that where you go every night? To her?” you ask, feeling nauseous, sick to your stomach, acid burning its way up your throat. 

“Yes” he replies and its then your heart shatters. This was worse, this was so much worse than Bucky sleeping with someone else. 

“Do you love her, James? Are you in love with someone else?” 

He stands abruptly, the chair he was occupying skidding back and banging off the wall with the force. He takes three long strides toward you coming to a halt as he raises his hand to cup your cheek. 

You can't help but flinch at the action, can't help the step you take away from him, or the fear that makes its way onto your face.

Bucky drops his hand limply to his side, pure horror on his face. Horror at himself for making you afraid of him, for shattering the trust you had placed in him. He takes a step back, putting distance between you, distance you obviously needed. “No,” he replies. “You’re it.” 

You roll your eyes, anger rising full force. “Then what did you talk about? Did you make her promises? Whisper sweet nothings in her ear? Tell her you would be together? Did you tell her your feelings and fears? You stayed out almost every night for two months, Bucky! What did you talk about? What did you promise her?” your speech had started calmly, but by the end you were screaming, banging your fists against Bucky’s chest, angry tears spilling forth. Great heaving sobs are pulled from you, the emotion too much, too intense for you to keep inside. 

Bucky takes it, he takes it all, not once trying to stop your onslaught. “I promised her I would leave you. I promised her we would be together, get a small apartment close to the bar. I would quit The Avengers, maybe start a family,” he says, and you can only cry harder. 

Sinking heavily to the floor at his words, he remains standing, watching as you fall to pieces at his feet. 

“Last night I came home, I saw you on the couch waiting for me again, I saw the hurt on your face, the pain I had caused you, I saw the fear when I lost it, and I realised how much I loved you, how afraid I was of losing you. You ran and I realized what my life would be like without you in it.” He takes a breath before he crouches down. 

A family. You couldn't give him that, your handlers had made sure of it, but how desperately you wanted one with him. How desperately you wanted to be normal, to feel a child in your arms and know you had created something beautiful. That for once your body had not brought death but life was something you wanted, everyday, for as long as you could remember. 

“I’m sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. I know this is gonna take work, but I wanna try. Will you let me try?” 

You begin to laugh. It’s humorless, but the crying stops, your coldness returns, your hurt and anger get buried somewhere deep where you kept all your disappointments, all the horror your past had brought. You shake your head, your eyes meeting his. “You had an emotional affair, and you want me to brush it off? To try?” 

He blinks rapidly at your choice of words, emotional affair, and blanches when he realises what he’s done. Sitting down heavily on the floor, he shakes his head. “I really fucked up,” he states. “Baby doll... I don't know what to say.” 

The quiet that follows his statement is deafening, almost suffocating. It wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the very life out of you. You can't breathe or think, the pain too much for you to bear. 

“Are you going to leave me?” he asks quietly. “Is this over?” 

You honestly don't know. You loved Bucky more than life. The thought of never being with him again sent a wave of nausea through you. The words physically hurt, like a lance through the heart. “I don't know, Bucky.” You were a mess, your mind jumbled and confused, your entire world had been thrown for a loop. Everything you thought you had, had ripped from you in a span of heartbeats. “I need time away from you. I need to think. I don't know what I'm feeling. I just... I need time.” 

Bucky nods and stands, making his way to the door. “Whatever you need, (y/n). Take as long as you need.” He opens the bedroom door, stopping just as he’s about to shut it again. “I’ll be here waiting, baby, I’ll always be here waiting.” 

“I want to believe it Bucky, I want to, If you really mean it, if you are serious about trying you won't see her again. You won't talk to her again.” Bucky’s gaze catches yours, his eyes hold an emotion you can't place, it has dread flaring back to life in your stomach.

“I promise. I’ll never see her again” with that he closes the door, leaving you to rock back and forth on the bedroom floor, silent tears streaming from your eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

After a rushed conversation with Tony, who had agreed to give you use of an empty safe house in Brooklyn, and a quick stop at the apartment where you packed enough clothing and various toiletries for three days, you ignored the photographs of you and Bucky placed around the apartment. You ignored the evidence of your lives together. Or you tried to.

You linger in the doorway casting a glance over the carnage which was once your home. Chunks of debris lay scattered on the floor, the coffee table had been upended and was laying precariously on its side, the photos that had once rested upon its wooden surface were in pieces on the carpet. It unnerved you seeing the remnants of a once happy relationship so carelessly destroyed, a harsh reminder nothing was forever and some things couldn't be fixed, no matter how desperately you wanted them to go back to how they once were. 

Closing the door gently behind you, you slipped silently out of the building into the waiting car Tony had provided, determined not to show weakness. Emotion was something you could not afford, not in your line of work. 

You were shot at constantly. You were stupid for letting yourself think you could possibly have normal. It was a hope you had held onto for so many years, the possibility that one day you could have a half way normal life, with friends who were not ex KGB assassins, with barbecues and lazy Sundays, maybe a few kids and a golden retriever. 

It wasn't a thought unique to you, Steve had often remarked on cutting out with Sharon. Clint had successfully managed to have it all. Natasha... well Natasha had changed since Bruce’s disappearance. She would never admit it, but his departure had hurt her deeply. Her eyes held a new sorrow to them, a sorrow that wasn't caused by the lives she had taken, but rather the one thing she thought she could have being ripped away from her. 

Bucky had often discussed buying an old house in the country with you, retiring before the job got you both killed, maybe adopting a rugrat or two. He would fix up old cars, a skill he had picked up on various Military bases in his youth. You would open up a small dance studio and paint, leaving the bloodshed of your combined pasts behind you. 

It was all just a fading dream now. A dwindling daydream that once held hope, was now tainted by bitterness. The truth was you didn't know if you could forgive Bucky’s betrayal. 

He had shared a piece of his soul with another, given it freely. It had taken you years to develop trust with him, to feel comfortable enough with him to let your guard down, to share the horrors that plagued your dreams with him. 

You felt safe with Bucky. Not just physically, you could handle yourself with a deadly calm that scared even Steve, but with your emotions, a part of you, you guarded fiercely, a part of you previously only shared with Natasha, and Bucky had destroyed the trust you had placed in him. 

The worst part of it was, you didn't know why. 

There was no big blowout fight, there was no harsh words and unhappiness prior to the mission that changed it all. There was only contentment. Sure you had your moments, all relationships do, but you thought he was happy. 

You thought you made him happy, 

Clamping down on the venomous thoughts running through your mind, you focus on the road ahead of you, determined to forget all that had happened in the last twenty four hours. 

**********

The “house” was a quaint brownstone, nestled tightly between two adjoining houses, smatterings of wild flowers were spread across the flower boxes situated neatly underneath the windows. The sweet scent of lavender tickles your nose as you walk up the driveway, closing the white gate behind you. Gravel crunches underfoot as you take in your surroundings, a tree swing rocks gently in the breeze. A nice place to read you think. Just what you needed. 

You allow a small smile to grace your features and stride to the door, fumbling for the key you had stashed haphazardly in your leather jacket when a shape catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Dropping to the floor reflexively, you unsheath the knife tucked snugly inside your boot. Your senses straining for any sign of movement. A small creak of the wooden floors gives away the intruder and you ready yourself to strike, flattening yourself against the wall of the brownstone, waiting for your unexpected guest to make a move. 

“You’re so dramatic, Sestra.” 

You bolt upright, relieved beyond all comprehension that it was Natalia at your door. “Jesus, Nat! What the hell are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief. You had told no one beside Tony of your whereabouts or plans to get away. 

She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow and asks, “Really?” 

You snort humorously, throwing up your hands in silent surrender. 

She smiles affectionately at you and ushers you through the door, grabbing your bags as she does.   
Rolling your eyes at her antics, ridiculously happy that she had hunted you down. 

She was your oldest friend and mentor, seeing you safely through your time in the red room. She herds you into the kitchen, smirking softly at your reaction to the ten or so bottles of liquor adorning the kitchen counter.

You groan out loud, and she laughs softly. 

“Oh yes, sestra, we are going to drink... and then we are going out. No arguments! I know best,” she quips, and you slump in defeat. 

“Alright then. Let's get this party started.”


	4. Chapter 4

You were sporting a lovely buzz, your brain fuzzy with the drink Natasha had plied you with. She was currently fussing with your hair, a last tweak before you entered the dingy bar in Brooklyn. 

She had dressed you in tight leather, the pants hugging your curves, accentuating all your best assets. It was high waisted and clinched you in, the skin tight material of your corset made it hard to breath, but fuck if you didn't look like sex on legs. 

“How did you find this place?” you ask while swatting her hand away from your hair. 

Her hand pauses briefly, your question catching her slightly off guard. “I heard about it in passing, can't remember from whom,” she answers nonchalantly. 

A slight pang of worry niggles at your brain, but you ignore it, opting instead to enjoy your evening, to try and shake the last few months of stress and worry. Your shrug and follow Natalia into the bar, the Loud 90’s song blaring from the jukebox brings a small smile to your face. The boisterous crowd is infectious as you and Natalia move toward the bar. 

A beautiful blonde, eyes bluer than the ocean, plush pink lips and a kind face, nods in your direction, indicating she would be with you in a second. She's talking to a man. 

You can barely make out his chocolate brown chin length locks, his broad shoulders that look strangely familiar. You shake yourself mentally, cursing yourself for seeing Bucky everywhere. 

The blonde eventually makes her way over to you, her brow pinched in a frown when she stops in front of you, placing her hands on the bar. “What can I get you?” her voice is slightly accented, Russian you think, and the niggly thought from earlier returns full force. 

Your head seems to turn of its own accord, making eye contact with the man she was talking to earlier. You hear Natalia in the background asking the bartender her name. 

“Ivanna,” she answers simply. 

Bucky’s eyes seem to bore into yours. He stands from his chair and moves toward you, shoving unlucky patrons out of the way. 

Natalia and Ivanna stopped talking as they watch him. 

You're rooted to the spot, your heart breaking with every step he takes, betrayal singing fiercely in your blood. 

He had lied. He promised not to see her again, not to speak to her again, yet here he was. It was ironic, you thought. It always ended this way. You were only good for murder and as a warm body for the men you loved to use until they found something better. 

“Babe?” Ivanna pipes up. 

You whimper softly, screwing your eyes closed tightly.Lurching to your feet, not uttering a word as you walk out of the bar, you can hear him calling your name over the loud music, but your brain is blurred around the edges, your heart refusing to accept what he had done. It was glaringly obvious who he’d chosen. 

The cool night air is heaven on your face, drying the tears you hadn't known you had shed. You hear him coming up behind you, his soft footfalls almost non existent to someone who hadn't had the serum.

He takes your hand gently, attempting to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you flinch away from the touch, his very presence invoking a sick feeling in your gut. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I texted her to tell her it was over. She told me to tell her in person.” 

You nod, staring vacantly at the wall in front of you. 

“I meant what I said. It's always been you. I ended it with Ivanna.” 

You snort sarcastically. “She called you babe,” you point out. 

He sighs heavily. “I know.”

“You're in love with her, Bucky. Please stop denying it. I know you, you would never have strayed If you were still invested in us. You aren't a cheater. You stopped loving me somewhere along the line, and stayed out of some sort of twisted obligation.” 

Bucky screws his eyes shut tightly. “I'm in love with her. And I'm in love with you.” 

You let out a heavy breath, feeling strangely relieved to hear the words, confirmation that you weren't going crazy, that this was real and not some insane nightmare your brain had cooked up. “I want you to be happy, B. To have kids and a dog and the white picket fence with a woman who isn't damaged, who doesn't have years of baggage to lug around, someone who can give you what you need. That's not me anymore.”

“Don't say it, (Y/N),” he says, his voice flat. 

“it's over, Bucky. You and I are over,” you whisper. 

Bucky lets out a choked sound, a strangled cry. A soft voice comes from behind you, and you know it's her by the way Bucky's shoulders stiffen. 

“Babe? Everything alright?”

You whirl around and face her head on, a sling of curses on the tip of your tongue. Your hand itched with the need to bash her beautiful face in, to leave her bleeding in the dirt. Instead you look her up and down, sizing her up. “Take care of him. Don't touch him when he's having a nightmare. Keep Steve on speed dial. Don't attempt to wake him. Don't force him to talk, and always wash his sweaters first. He can't stand the cold, so stash them around the apartment. Don't sit on his prosthetics side, not until he trusts himself with you. Forties music soothes him. Speak in Russian if he dissociates; it calms him.” 

She stares at you wide-eyed before you turn to face him. You memorize his face one last time before you leave him and Ivanna standing alone in a dark alley, attempting to hide the tears streaming down your face and the burgeoning heartache blossoming in your chest.

You wouldn’t see Bucky again for a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5

You had raced back to the safe house, sending Natalia a quick text explaining why you had left so suddenly. Blindly grabbing a bottle of booze off the counter, you shut yourself firmly in the master bedroom with a bottle of Tequila. 

You walk toward a mirror hanging against the wall and stare at yourself, hating what you see, hating yourself for making Bucky’s decision for him. You knew he would never walk away from you, you knew he felt a deep sense of loyalty to you which is why he could nerve cross the line from emotional to physical with Ivanna. 

Somehow, that hurt more, the knowledge that you were nothing more to him than an obligation, a duty. It was funny really. You weren't surprised. Somewhere deep inside your soul you knew Bucky would leave eventually. 

He wanted a family, a sense of normality, and you were unable to give it to him. 

Sighing deeply, you hit the play button of the stereo on the dresser. An old eighties rock ballad blasts through the speakers, and you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. You were a deadly assassin, trained in the art of death, and you were falling to pieces over a man.

Deciding that you need to purge yourself of him, you move toward the bathroom, haphazardly shrugging off shoes as you walk, not bothering to close the door behind you. Climbing fully clothed into the shower, swigging heavily from the bottle, the golden liquid burns a fiery path down your throat, soothing some of the pain that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in your chest.

The pain was excruciating, so acute you were afraid it might swallow you whole. 

His face, so full of pity swam in your memory, taunting you, accosting you with your weakness. 

You turn the knob for the warm water, the cold follows suit. The gentle patter on the tile brings a sense of calm, and you sit down clumsily on the shower floor. You were soaked in seconds, your hair plastered to your face, your makeup marking your smooth skin as it left dark tracks down your face. The leather clung uncomfortably to your frame, informing you, you wouldn't be getting out of it anytime soon

It was over. There was no taking it back. 

You had left him standing In an alleyway with her, his love, the woman he would give up everything for. You wondered what made her so special, so alluring that Bucky would give up years of love, that he would give up Avenging, the only sense of stability he’d ever known. It was baffling. The Avengers were everything to him. His family, his anchor, why would he give that up? Everything had been going so well, you had been so happy together, you couldn't understand what went awry.

You replayed the last two months in your head over and over, nitpicking every interaction, every touch, every word, but nothing sprang to mind. You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you destroyed everything. It was driving you mad. 

And then it dawns on you. It wasn't the job, it wasn't The Avengers. 

It was you. You had driven him so far into the dark he was willing to give up everything. 

You were never going to hold him again, never laugh with him again, never touch him again, and it's this thought that sends you screaming into the abyss. The pains is so intense you can barely breath. A choked sob forces its way out of your throat, your body trembling violently despite the warmth of the shower. It was really over, there was no coming back from it this time. 

You were alone, and you couldn't go back. Not now. Not again. 

*******

You stride confidently into Fury's office, your head held high. He barely raises his head when you enter, making a vague motion at an empty chair which you plop down heavily in, the previous evening's hangover pounding like a jackhammer in your head.

“So, reassignment?” Fury asks. 

You nod, not bothering to answer. 

He was Nick Fury. He probably already knew your reasoning. 

He stares at you for a full minute, before reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a thick file. “Andrew McClain. A wealthy aristocrat living in Dublin. He has ties to Hydra command, and could possibly be a wealth of information on their plans. We need an agent willing to play the long con.” 

You take the file from him, flipping through the contents, memorizing information as you go. “Mission parameters?” you ask. 

Mr. McClain wasn't all that bad. Thick black hair, olive skin, the greenest eyes you had ever seen on a man, strong build. Muscular. As far as marks went he was doable. 

“Get close to him, seduce him, gather as much information on Hydra and their plans as you can. You’ll be given a secure communication device with a direct link to Agent Romanoff. You will update her weekly. You will also be provided with a new identity and a paper trail.” 

You nod absently, mind already made up. “When do I leave?” you ask flatly. 

Fury eyes you warily for a moment before answering. “In an hour. Report to tech for your equipment.”

“You got it, boss,” you reply, standing from your chair and leaving the room. 

You were running. From Bucky, from your heart and from the pain. You couldn't find it in you to regret it.


	6. Chapter 6

Andrew nuzzles into your side, drawing you gently out of your doze. Blinking your eyes open and yawning widely, you catch his sea blue eyes peering at you as he grins lazily, hands roaming your body, soft caresses which ignite the flame in your belly. 

“Behave,” you chastise lamely. 

His grin morphs into a full blown smile, his eyes sparkling mischievously crinkling adorably at the corners. “Are you complaining, lass?” His thickly accented voice is your favorite thing about him, the Irish coming through heavily when he’s most relaxed, a delightful brogue that vibrated in his chest, lending a richness and character to his tone that had you weak in the knees. 

Your assignment hadn't been all that bad. Andrew was a pleasant man who wasn't hard to look at, completely clueless as to who his business partners were, but an all round good egg, smart and quick witted. The king of sarcasm. 

You almost felt bad for having to leave him. Almost. 

It had been two years and two months since you left Fury's office that fateful morning. You hadn't stuck around to say goodbye, nor had you wanted to. It had been better that way. No one to talk you out of it, and that was ideal. 

You could mend what was left of your heart and help an innocent without team interference. A win win all around. 

It hadn't been easy, you carefully crafted walls had been dismantled, then bulldozed when a year into the mission Natalia had informed you during a weekly check in that Bucky had married Ivanna and they were expecting a child. It had taken every ounce of willpower you had not to let on, to carry on with your mission, to protect and serve, but something had snapped inside you. The normality you had found after The KGB and Red Room, the sense of peace and home had crumbled, and you had reverted back to what you once were. 

Cold. Heartless. An Assassin with ice in your veins. 

You slip out of bed, ignoring Andrew's protests. “You have a meeting, mo stór.” My darling. You silence his avid protests by bending down to kiss his forehead. “I'll see you when you get home,” you murmur against his skin. 

He makes a small sound of discontent as he watches you stride from the master bedroom into the master bath, a wicked smile gracing his lips when he swings his tanned, strong legs from the bed. 

You step into the shower, the water soothing your deliciously aching muscles. 

Andrew was no snooze in the sack and Lord was he insatiable. It seemed he could never get enough of you, taking you wherever and whenever he could. 

A sly smile makes its way onto your lips when he steps in behind you, pressing his burgeoning erection against the cleft on your buttocks. 

“I think not, acushla,” he whispers heatedly in your ear. 

You melt into his touch. What was one last tryst before you went back home? Who were you to deny him one more day with the woman he thought he was going to marry. 

Today was the end of the mission, at least as far as you knew. You were to meet the team and Fury at the compound, where you would receive further orders, citing “Cold feet” if you should return to Andrew in the future. 

You felt as if there was more to learn from his business dealings. As clueless as he was, he remained a valuable resource, but it wasn't your decision, and you would accept reassignment with little complaint. 

You sigh happily as he pushes you against the wall. 

******

Your feet hit the tarmac with a dull thud. The air smelled different, the sun felt wrong on your skin. A thin layer of sweat covered your body making your skinny black jeans feel way too tight. Your hair stuck uncomfortably to the nape of your neck, and for the first time in two years you questioned your choice to join S.H.I.E.L.D. You would rather be cornered by a hundred Hydra operatives than walk into the briefing room and face your ex-team again. 

Memories of a happier time were assaulting your senses, snippets of laughter rang in your ears. You swear you could feel the ghost of his breath on your neck, the sensation of his finger tracing the divots in your spine, his hands running through your hair. It was almost too much, your chest constricted painfully as his face flashes in your mind, his rarely seen dimples on full display, his eyes crinkling in the corners, a light blush dusting his cheeks. 

You resist the urge to double over, your breath quickening as you descend into nostalgia, memory after memory rising to the surface. Tears prickle painfully in the corner of your eyes, and you dig your fingernails painfully into the palm of your hands leaving crescent moon indents in your skin. The pain anchors you, providing you the clarity you need to walk into the briefing room, your feet had steered themselves into the compound out of their own accord, too lost in your mind to notice that you had been moving. You were currently standing outside the briefing room, the frosted glass obscuring your view of who was inside. 

But that voice… it was unmistakable. The soothing baritone, the slight accent, a mix between Russian and American like it didn't quite know where it fit in, the forties slang rolling off his tongue as he jokes with Steve. You knew that voice like you knew your own. 

You square your shoulders and calm your senses, slipping effortlessly into your emotionless facade and stride confidently through the glass doors, hoping against hope that you were prepared enough to face them, and that you wouldn't make a fool of yourself in front of Bucky. 

Again.


	7. Chapter 7

You ignore his startled gasp and the intensity of his gaze. You don't want to look into the blue of his eyes, the pain still lurking underneath the surface, a living entity weighing down your bones. The unanswered questions ran around in your head, the self doubt worming its way into your conscious mind. The ache of being without him threatened to suffocate you, but you couldn't fall into that pit again. 

You couldn't afford the vulnerability.

Instead, you focus on Fury’s face, cataloging every scar, every line, every micro expression. “Director,” you acknowledge with a small nod. 

“Agent (Y/L/N),” he greets, reaching for the projector remote laying on the glass table He clicks the play button, and Andrews handsome face fills the screen. “Mission run down,” he orders businesslike. 

Your eyes sweep the room, ignoring Bucky for your everything your worth. 

“Andrew Mcclain, Third Duke of Leinster. Insanely wealthy, he’s the current CEO of Leinster Inc. They took over for Stark Industries as the number one weapons manufacturer in the world. They have military contracts with nearly every global superpower. Their tech is unparalleled which made them a target for Hydra,” you pause as Fury clicks again. Your smiling face fills the screen, your ring finger extended, a glittering diamond resting on the slim digit as Andrew places a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “I assumed the Identity of Amelia Ames, the owner of a lucrative tech conglomerate based out of Barcelona. We met at a conference in Montserrat, and were engaged within a year.” 

Fury clicks again and images of various grey haired men in equally grey suits appear. Andrew is the only one dressed impeccably in black, his intelligent eyes trained firmly on the man shaking his hand. 

“Hydra has been acquiring weapons from Leinster since the inception of the company. They own the board of directors, some being Hydra members themselves from information gathered we have managed to arrest three ranking members of the organisation and close several bases. Mr. Mcclain is blissfully unaware who his business partners are and is not a part of Hydra.” 

You open your mouth to continue your explanation when Bucky interrupts. “How can we be sure?” 

“I am exceptionally good at my job, Sergeant Barnes,” you reply tonelessly. He raises an eyebrow, challenging your assertion. You stifle an eye roll and clench your jaw, swallowing the harsh retort that had begun to form on the tip of your tongue. You hated that he had gotten to you so easily. “I am sure, Sergeant Barnes, because I am intimately acquainted with Mr. Mcclain. I have spent two years of my life studying him, watching his every move. I know all his secrets, every sordid detail of his past. I have seen his dark side, I have spent years cultivating his trust, and I can say without a doubt that Andrew Mcclain is not Hydra.” You stare him down. 

He opens his mouth to retort, a challenge clear in his eyes. 

Your ire flares and before you can stop yourself you’re forming words without the consent of your rational mind. “I know my judgement in men has been called into question in the past, but he was a mark, Sergeant, and while you think me incapable of keeping someone interested enough to bare their soul to one such as myself, I can guarantee he was sufficiently interested. I did my job. He has no more secrets from S.H.I.E.L.D!” 

His jaw goes slack, his eyes widening at your retort, and you can't help the little thrill of victory that flares In your chest. You suppress the urge to smirk or childishly stick your tongue out when Fury clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. 

“Will he come looking for you?” he inquires. 

You falter for a moment. You honestly didn't know, but you had meticulously covered your tracks. There was no paper trail and no online presence to be found. You shake your head slightly. “Even if he does look, I doubt he would be able to track me down. I covered my bases.” You cast your gaze down before looking Fury in the eye. “I think it would be best if I return to him, Director. There is so much more we can learn from him. I feel I would be most useful in Dublin.” 

Fury consider you for a long moment. “No,” he replies simply. “I need you back on the team. The Avengers are spread thin as it is, and with Enhanced springing out of their holes we need all hands on deck. If you haven't learned everything you could in two years then there's no point in going back.” 

Swallowing down the dread his words invoked, you glance at Bucky. 

He’d gone pale, his face devoid of all color, eyes a stark contrast against his skin. 

“Affirmative,” you reply shakily and he nods. 

Shuffling the papers before him, he stands, sparing you a look. Before he leaves the room, he comes to a stop next to you. “You have two days furlough. Use it wisely. I don't want any residual tension messing things up. These are dangerous times, (Y/N). I need the team to be a team,” he says quietly before he strides out the door. 

The silence his departure brings is near deafening. An awkward tension fills the room. 

Steve clears his throat loudly, rising from his seat and engulfing you in a hug, whispering a soft, “Welcome back,” into your ear. The others soon follow suit, leaving you alone with Bucky, the last person you want to be alone with. 

You refuse to show your nerves or the pain his proximity brings. 

He’s married, with a kid, to a woman you had fantasized murdering every day for last two years, shoving her face into the dirt, watching her bleed. Deciding against an argument, or painful confrontation, you settle for politeness.

“I don't want to fight, James, nor do I wish to cause you problems. If you leave the past alone, I will too. We are going to be working together. We can’t help others if we are squabbling amongst ourselves.” 

He looks up at you, a hint of trepidation shining in his eyes. You know he doesn't believe you, but to his credit he doesn't say anything to contradict you. “Agreed,” he replies. 

You sigh an internal one of relief, your breath blowing out in a sharp puff at his words. This was good, you could work with indifferent. 

“I have one request, if you don't mind,” you ask, not knowing how it would be received. He makes a “Go ahead” motion with his hand, and you steel yourself for the inevitable explosion that will follow your words. “Keep Ivanna away from me. I don’t want to deal with animosity or petty jealousies.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, his mouth settles into a hard line. “That won't be a problem,” he replies calmly. 

You’re doubtful. It had taken everything you had not to track her down when you found about her and Bucky. It was human nature, after all, to want to protect what was yours. “You can guarantee it?” 

He lets out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes taking a cold edge to them. “Yes. She’s been dead for a year. Died while giving birth to Reyna,” he replies mechanically.

Your heart stops. No matter how much resentment and bitterness you held, no one deserved to feel the loss of a loved one. Children deserved to know their parents, to have a happy healthy home. You resist the urge to close the distance between you, to run your fingers through his hair, to soothe him, to offer words of comfort, to take his grief away from him. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Bucky. I know how much you loved her,” you answer softly. 

He snorts before standing up, mumbling something you can't quite catch beneath his breath, grabs the jacket from the back of his chair and turns to face you. “I’m glad you’re back. The team missed you. I think you’re in your old room. I’ma warn you now, Reyna is teething. She screams murder most of the night. Steve has those heavy duty ear plugs. He’ll be more than happy to give you a pair. Tony is in the process of soundproofing the rooms, but it’s taking awhile...” he trails off, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes in your blank expression. 

He runs his hand nervously through his hair, shifting his weight from one foot to another, before he puffs out a breath and takes a step toward you. “Listen, I know how hard coming out of deep cover is. The lines blur and you can't figure out who's the real you and what the cover was. If you need to talk, I'm a door away and up most of the night. I don't want the past to get in the way of work, and... I missed you. Your presence in the tower.” The last part is said softly, nearly a whisper. 

You take a step back, raising dead eyes to meet his. “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. Two days furlough is sufficient.” 

His expression falls momentarily before he schools his features back into polite interest. “Agent (Y/L/N),” he nods, and you move out of his path, hearing him mutter, “Good talk,” under his breath as he walks away from you. 

Your mind reels with the latest developments.

You suddenly wished you were back in Dublin, pretending to be something you weren’t. It was a hell of a lot easier than dealing with Bucky. You hadn't been back more than two hours, and already you could feel nerves fraying, and to be honest, you weren't entirely sure you could handle this. 

Just another mark, (Y/N). That was the only way you were going to get through this. If Bucky was nothing more than a mark, your heart would be safe from further hurt, would be safe from him. 

No attachments. The Red Room tag line filters through your head and you latch onto it, repeating it over and over like a mantra.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky POV:

Don't hyperventilate. Keep walking, he repeats over and over in his head as he gets further away from you. There's sweat dripping into his eyes, hot droplets rolling into his shirt making it stick uncomfortably to his skin. His body hair is standing on end like a soldier at attention as he takes long purposeful strides down the corridor to his room. 

Reyna wasn't due back from her daycare for another hour, long enough to compose himself, get the scent of your perfume out of his nostrils. Maybe long enough to forget the indifference he saw on your face like being back was no hardship for you, like the separation didn't feel like an arm had been cut off, or your heart cut out. 

He rips the bedroom door open, falling short of yanking it off its hinges and shuts it loudly behind him. Leaning against it, sucking in lungfuls of air like he had been holding his breath, he tries to calm his racing heart, currently threatening to burst out of his chest. 

Panic. Complete, debilitating terror was taking over. 

His vision whites out at the edges, his fingers digging painfully into his thighs, perspiration drenching him in seconds. His breathing increases rapidly. Gasping like a dying man desperately clinging to life, he does the only thing he can. He blindly stumbles in the general direction of his dresser, fumbling clumsily with the drawers while frantically searching for the only thing that could calm him, the only thing he would allow to calm him. 

His fingers finally touch the soft material and he exhales, pulling the garment free, bringing it to his face, inhaling the fading scent deeply. The soft whisper of the material against his stubble pulls a sigh from him. It was the only thing he had left, a light blue sweater which had seen better days and a handful of bittersweet memories which seemed to creep up on him at the most inopportune times. 

He inhales again and stumbles backwards to sit on his hastily made bed, cracking his eyes open and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

Fuck. I look like death, he thinks sourly to himself, noting his pale clammy skin and the bags under his eyes with a hint of disgust. He needed to get a handle on this and quickly. If he was going to be on the same team as you, he couldn't descend into a panicky mess every time he had an interaction with you. He needed to man up and focus on what was important. 

Reyna. The light of his life, the only good thing to come out of this mess, the only person who offered him hope, who kept him grounded. She needed him, depended on him and he would gouge out his eyes with a rusty spoon before he let her down. She deserved better. 

He exhales loudly, running his hand through his sweaty hair. So much had happened in the last two years, so much pain. He had fought so hard to give her a halfway normal life, to be the father she deserved but fuck was he tired. The kind of exhausted that makes you feel like you have lead in your bones, like every step had you wading through quicksand, a constant uphill battle. 

He felt like Sisyphus, pushing the boulder up the hill every day only to watch it come tumbling down again. Two years he had struggled to get back up again, and it was all falling down around him. The sense of peace he had worked so hard to build for himself and his daughter was crashing down. He had nearly convinced himself that the last couple of years hadn't happen, that it was all something his addled brain had cooked up, a terrible nightmare doused in your tears and Ivanna’s screams. 

Ivanna. The familiar ball of resentment flares in his chest, the torment she had inflicted upon him as fresh as the day she died. The hell that was their relationship was over, but it remained ever present in his heart, scarring his mind beyond what he thought it could be. 

She had been a fraud, a liar. She’d sucked the life right out of him and left him a shriveled husk. 

Don’t think about it, he chastises himself, shaking his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the melancholy which had suddenly descended on him. 

Throwing the sweater over a chair, he vowed to do the right thing and keep things professional, no matter how intensely happy he felt in your presence again. The memories of his betrayal still burned brightly in your eyes. He could see it in the way you stiffened when his fingers twitched, your entire body ready to spring if he moved wrong. The hot anger that laced your tone as you spat Ivanna’s name, demanding to not be around her. The worst was the look on your face when he mentioned Reyna, the mask of indifference had slipped for a second, and he could see the naked pain that lurked beneath the surface, the terrible longing you held. 

It shattered him on the spot, regret and hate for himself had filled his very soul. He had wanted nothing more than to pull you into is arms, promise that it would all be okay, that you didn't have to hurt anymore, but before he could act the mask had reappeared, cutting you off from him. Your walls could withstand the longest of sieges, and there was no way he was breaking them down. He didn't know if he should even try. 

That was entire different can of worms he was apprehensive about opening. 

Because Bucky Barnes, fearsome Winter Soldier, master of three am diaper changes and baby feedings was still, undeniably, ass over teakettle for you. 

He grits his teeth in frustration, shedding his sweaty shirt and shoes as he enters the bathroom. His pants soon follow, and he steps under the scalding spray of the shower. 

Focus on what's important, Barnes, he reminds himself. Focus on Reyna.

He repeats his daughters name in his head, over and over, salty tears mingling with water, his body relaxing as he permits himself to cry. For you, for Ivanna, and maybe, just a little, for himself and the life he was certain he could never have.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovely People!
> 
> I just want to take a minute to thank everyone for the feedback, It's been a treat reading the comments (It's also spurred on the creative juices) Devil Side was originally a request for a good friend that got away from me, so when I started writing it I did not expect it to create such a stir. 
> 
> Thank you all so much!

Flash Back: 

“Gone,” Steve echoes dully, the word tasting sour on his tongue. He glances at Bucky who had gone deathly pale when Fury had explained your reassignment. “Pal?” Steve probes his friend gently, but he’s seemed to be at a loss for words, and, more worryingly, Natasha is glaring daggers at the former winter soldier. 

She rises from her chair and moves catlike coming to a stop in front of Bucky. “This is your fault!” she spits, bending at the waist to stare a seated Bucky in the eye “You did this, you’re the reason she’s gone!” Natasha turns on her heel just as Steve demands to know what the hell she’s talking about. 

She stops in the doorway and turns her head slightly, her face deadly focused on Bucky Barnes. “If you bring your whore anywhere near me, I will kill her.” 

Present:  
Yawning tiredly, rubbing absently at your sandpaper eyes while shuffling, zombie-like, into the dimly lit kitchen, you ignore the insistent flashing of the kitchen clock. It was four am, too early to be awake, yet here you were in your rolled up pajama shorts and a tank top that hung loosely from your frame. It seemed you had lost a few pounds since the last time you were in the compound, the clothes you’d left in your room barely fit anymore. You were startled by your severe change in appearance and vowed to rectify it immediately. 

A loud rumble from your stomach indicates your desperate need for food, having not eaten since the flight back to New York and having barely slept. You were exhausted beyond comprehension. 

Bucky had not over exaggerated when he’d warned you of Reyna’s teething problems. 

Sighing audibly, you rummage through the cupboards for some form of cereal which didn't contain an abundance of sugar. Coming up empty, you groan aloud, grouching at the lack of healthy foodstuffs when a wry chuckle makes you jump about a foot off the floor. 

You spin and face the source of the noise, your eyes darting and catching the baby blues of Steve’s. “You scared me, Steve” you mumbled, turning your attention back to the food stores. 

He snorts and shakes his head. “I didn’t think that was possible,” he quips, a hint of resentment entering his voice. 

Stiffening slightly, you slowly turn to face him, noting the hard set of his jaw and the edge to his eyes. Somehow you knew this was going to happen. Steve was way too loyal for it not to happen. You, however, were not expecting a confrontation right out of the gate.

“Say what you have to say, Rogers. Stop pussyfooting,” snapping impatiently, not the best way to start the conversation to be sure, but you were tired, you patience had long since evaporated. 

His spoon clatters loudly against his bowl, his eyes snapping to yours. “You left, without a word. Left your team hanging!” 

It wasn't a question but an accusation, one you had been expecting yet it still stung. “This isn’t about me leaving the team, is it, Steve? This is about Bucky.” 

Steve’s expression goes blank, his face hardening. “He fell to pieces when you left,” he grits out. 

“If you don't want me here, Cap, tell me. I’ll go to Fury right now and request reassignment,” you reply calmly. 

Steve's face drains of color, spluttering indignantly at your words. “What? No... that's not...” 

You cut him off before he can launch his tirade. “Listen, I get it. He’s your friend, he can do no wrong in your eyes, but I needed time for me. To heal, to get over him, and I’m not going to subject myself to your self-righteous proclamations. I will not tolerate you laying the blame at my feet. I do that enough already without your help.” 

Steve's eyes widen comically, a light blush tinting his cheeks. Apparently, Cap hadn't been called out in a while. It would be highly amusing if you weren't watching your friendship burst into flames. Steve sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “That is not what I meant, (Y/N). I know Bucky screwed the pooch, but the rest of us? You were gone! We didn't know why, and Bucky... well, he didn't take it well.” 

You slam your fists down the kitchen island, anger surging venomously through your veins, and level Steve with a glare that could strip paint off of walls. “And what about me? What about what I went through? What about my pain, Steven? Or am I that inconsequential? I wasn’t the one who cheated! How is this my fault?” Steve opens his mouth to reply but you cut him off before he can form the words “You know what? I’m done,” you spit, stomping down the hallway, and slamming your bedroom door shut. 

God, what were you thinking? You should have insisted to go back to Andrew, begged to go back, because if this was your first day back, then what was a week going to look like? 

Did they all think it was your fault Bucky had strayed? Was it your fault he had looked elsewhere for comfort? 

Flinging yourself onto your unmade bed, you burrow under the covers, relishing in the safety they provide. 

The bedroom door opens softly. After a few seconds, the bed dips, and you’re enveloped in strong arms. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I was being insensitive. I don't blame you for leaving, or Bucky’s choices,” Steve says softly. 

“I’m tired, Stevie. The last two years have been hell. He married her, had a kid. He lived the life we were supposed to live together. It hurts.” Closing your eyes tightly, you forge on needing to get this out. “Leaving the team and Bucky was like a dagger to the heart. You were my family, my home, and I know I let you down, but I couldn't watch while he moved on with her. I couldn't stay here. I needed space to breathe, to think. I should have said goodbye, and I’m sorry I hurt you, Steve.” You feel Steve nod his head, his grip tightening around you slightly. 

“I wish you had come to me, told me what was going on,” he states. 

“I couldn’t, Steve. You would have been pissed, and Bucky would have had no one to turn to when things got bad. I couldn’t do that to him,” you mumble, embarrassment flaring It had been a long time since you had laid bare your innermost thoughts, and while you could trust Steve, you couldn't help the hint of weakness your admission had caused, the vulnerability almost choking you in its unfamiliarity. 

You hated this feeling, being exposed like a raw nerve, it wasn't something that came naturally to you, it had been beaten out of you, eroded and eradicated. 

Steve tilts your chin upwards, scrutinizing your features. “Thank you, for trusting me enough to confide in me. Can you forgive me for my putz behavior?” he asks gently, his eyes softening. 

A small smile plays on your lips. “Of course Steve, if you can forgive me? For bailing like a coward.” 

Steve nods seriously. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he replies. 

You smile widely at him and he grins back sheepishly before his smile slips slightly. 

“You’ve lost too much weight, we need to get you back on a programme,” he barks, Captain America slipping into his tone.

“Steve.” 

“I’m serious, you’re nothing but skin and bone.” 

“Stevie.” 

“How do you expect to take a hit if it looks like a soft wind could blow you over?” 

“Steven!”

“What?”

“You’re such a putz!” 

His roaring laughter echoes around the room, leaving a pleasantly warm feeling in your chest. It was good to have him back. You had missed your friends terribly, and it looked like you could have them back, even if that meant making chums with Bucky Barnes himself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: This chapter carries warnings, for torture, blood and character death. proceed with caution.

Flashback: 

Location: Somewhere off the Baltic Sea, two years and four months ago.   
Mission Status: Classified. 

Bucky POV

Bucky’s breathing is ragged, his hands coated in blood. Sweat drips off his brow. The weapon in his hand shakes slightly, and he grips it tighter while the darkness of the room blinds him. Every sense is strained, his finger twitching on the trigger with every indistinguishable noise he hears. 

He’s trapped, cut off from Steve, from the others. He can faintly hear the gunshots ringing outside, but the rush of adrenaline pounding in his ears dulls it further. 

He doesn't want to be here. He remembers this place, the horrors which were committed in these halls. Endless experiments, countless wipings of previously innocent people. Enhanced being altered further until their humanity was completely eradicated. 

It made his skin crawl. 

He narrows his eyes, trying to discern an exit in the dark. A handle, or a knob, anything, but there's nothing, not a single way out. He can feel the walls closing in on him, see the pools of blood and the victims at his feet. 

So many, so many dead. 

The guilt he experiences is near suffocating. Bucky inhales what he hopes is a calming breath when a flicker of light catches his attention. His head snaps to the source, a giant computer monitor flickering to life. A low hum emits from the screen, the picture is slightly grainy, but there's enough light to see by. He turns in a circle assessing his surroundings once again. He’s startled to find that he’d surrounded by monitors, all showing the same room, all with them of the same man. 

Rumlow. 

“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky can hear Rumlow’s smirk, though his face is obscured by a mask. Bucky knows it’s him. He could never forget his voice. It was ingrained in him, seared into his memory for all eternity. 

“It hasn't been the same without ya.” 

Bucky waits, not saying a word, waiting for the pin to drop, waiting for the endgame. 

“Are you missing something, Barnes? Have you called home recently? How’s that pretty piece of ass you keep around?” 

Bucky’s blood turns to ice when Rumlow steps away from the screen, his rage boiling over when he sees who's tied to a solitary metal chair in the middle of the room. 

“No! No!” he yells, knowing Rumlow can't hear him, but he can't help the cries that are pulled from his throat. 

It’s you. His heart, his love, bloody and beaten, your body broken as you sit limply in the chair. The metal straps encasing your wrists drip blood, your eyes are so swollen he doubts you can see through them. 

Rumlows insane laughter is punctuated by your low moans of pain, your tired body jerking every few seconds. 

“You’re just in time for the finale, Barnes. Say bye bye!” 

Bucky frantically searches the room for an exit, dashing between monitors looking for a concealed entryway, anything that could get him out of this room. Get him to you. 

A zap of electricity stalls him in tracks, a brief feminine scream punctuates the air. You’re sitting bolt upright, a nameless agent retracting a taser from the skin of your exposed neck. 

Bucky watches as Rumlow runs the flat of his knife across your collarbone before he slashes your flesh deeply, the blood running down your skin. Whimpering, your head lolls back as you pass out, the pain finally too much. 

Rumlow slaps you harshly across the face, bringing you back into consciousness. “Beg him,” he demands, “Beg him to save you!” 

You start to cry, your broken sobs clawing at the inside of his chest, his metal hand curls into a fist, he sees nothing but red. “Bucky, please...” you plead. Rumlow digs the knife into the underside of your chin, enough to pierce the skin, but not enough to kill. “Bucky! Help me! I don't want to die! Bucky!” 

His name comes out in a drawn-out scream, and he breaks. His metal hand pulls back and he lets fly, pummeling the wall next to the monitor, determined to break through to the other side, to save you. “I’m coming, baby! Hold on!” he hears himself say, not aware that he was speaking at all. 

“Say goodbye, Barnes,” Rumlow taunts, running the blade across your neck almost tenderly, like a touch from a lover. 

Bucky would remember the action for years to come, it would pop into his mind unbidden in the middle of the night, a constant reminder of his failure to protect you.

“No! Please, no! I’ll come back!” he screams, but it’s too late. 

Rumlow plunges the knife deep into your throat, an obscene gurgle followed by frothy blood spills from your mouth. Your legs twitching in their confines as your brain realizes it’s dead.

“(Y/N)!” he cries, hurling himself bodily at the wall, desperately trying to get to you, the image of your lifeless body the only thing he can see. 

He couldn't remember what happened after that. Steve later told him it was a shapeshifter, tortured and brainwashed into thinking she was you who had died so violently at the hands of Rumlow. 

It didn't matter. All he saw when he looked at you afterward was your death, and the outright terror on your face when he couldn't get to you. He never forgave himself for his failure. 

Every night he dreamed. He dreamed of your dying words, of Rumlow’s taunts, his complete inability to get to you in time and the look on your face. 

It’s the same look you gave him day in and day out afterward. Naked fear at his behavior, fear at his distance, fear for him. It was its own kind of sick torture. He couldn't bear to see it, he couldn't let himself close to you again. 

So he did the only thing he thought he could do. He snuck a light blue sweater from your wardrobe, inhaling your scent, imprinting it in his senses, and he dove head first into the bottom of a bottle hoping to drown out the visions, the dreams, the nightmares.

It was the worst kind of torture. Seeing you, touching you, feeling you, when his heart had already decided... you were dead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so i'm really nervous about this chapter (Considering the comments thus far) But, I highly doubt anyone (Who isn't an atrocious person) would be outwardly hostile to a child, so here we go.

The wailing was intense. A prolonged drawn out cry that set your teeth on edge. It was day two of furlough, and you had gotten next to no sleep. Your eyes felt worse than sandpaper, the cat naps you had stolen while Reyna was at daycare doing nothing to assuage your exhaustion. It was the worst form of torture, sleep deprivation. 

You were beyond cranky, your temper lurking underneath the surface, ready to lash out at anyone who dared look your way. 

Sighing heavily as another pained cry travels through the wall you share with Bucky, you come to a snap decision. You lurch out of bed, throwing the covers violently off of you, rummage blindly through your nightstand until you find what you’re looking for, cursing softly as you trip over a shoe on the way to the door. Righting yourself, you fling it open and march down to Bucky’s room, not bothering to knock. 

The scene in front of you is enough to break your heart. 

Bucky standing in the middle of the room, Reyna perched on his hip. Her little face is scrunched up and red, her wails doing nothing but flustering Bucky who looks like Hydra had gotten a hold of him. His hair was a mess, his clothes disheveled, what looked like vomit was splattered down his back, and the smell was overwhelming. 

“Bucky, I need you to give the baby to me,” you say calmly, noting how his hands tighten briefly around her small body. 

His eyes are cautious like you were a predator wanting to gobble her up. He looked like a wild animal, his base instincts taking complete control. 

You had no idea how long he’d been awake, but he was obviously so far down the rabbit hole it was going to take more than eight hours to get him functioning again. 

“Bucky, can I hold her? I think I can help,” you croon softly, moving cautiously forward. 

Bucky slumps and hands Reyna over. 

Instinctively you begin making soft reassuring noises underneath your breath, jiggling her slightly on your hip. “Open wide, pretty girl,” you say as you squeeze a glob of the gel onto your finger, gently sticking your finger into her mouth on a particularly loud scream. Spreading the gel across her gums, watching as her little face scrunches with distaste. “There we go, all better,” you smile, smoothing her sweaty hair from her face. 

Her eyes stop the action. Deep, unfathomable ocean glitter in them. Her father's eyes. 

It throws you off. You hadn't noticed how much she looked like her mother except for her eyes. It conjures up scenarios of what your own child with him would look like. Would he or she resemble Bucky? Or you? Or would the child be a perfect blend between the two of you, a perfect manifestation of the love you shared.

You stop that train of thought in its tracks, handing Reyna, somewhat reluctantly you’re surprised to find, back to her father who's looking equal parts relieved, suspicious, and astonished. 

“What did you give her?” he asks gruffly. 

You suppress a sigh, understanding his need for clarification. “Teegel. Andrew has a niece. Her mother would apply it to her gums when her teething problems kept her up at night. It numbs the gums, perfectly safe. I found it works wonders on a split lip, and you can get it at any pharmacy,” you reply. 

He nods, placing Reyna in her crib, a loving kiss to her forward head follows, and your heart aches. What you could have had if your parents hadn’t sold you, if the Red Room hadn't desecrated your body. What if your mind sneers, and you bodily shake yourself, dislodging the thought. 

Bucky yawns loudly, and a bout of empathy takes root... 

“I... I can stay with her, you know until she falls asleep?” you offer nervously. 

Bucky seems too tired to argue, flinging himself backwards onto the bed. 

You consider that as a resounding yes taking a seat in a chair next to Reyna’s crib. A hint of blue catches your eye, and you dig around in the cushions until you pull it out. It's a light blue sweater, slightly tattered from years of being handled, but you would recognize it anywhere. 

It had been a gift from Natalia after a mission in Paris. It was your favorite sweater, soft to the touch, wrapping you in what felt like velvet, but it had gone missing years ago, and you always held the suspicion that Wanda had borrowed it for a date with Vision but forgot to return it. Its absence had completely slipped your mind when you left. 

Your mind floods with reasons about why Bucky has it. did he grab it accidentally when he left? Were you imagining it, and it was merely similar to something Ivanna owned? Deciding to bite the bullet and just ask you clear your throat softly. “Hey, Bucky is this my sweater?” Nothing but silence answers your statement, and you turn your head toward the bed. “Bucky?” you inquire, receiving a soft snore in return. You’re about to call out again when Reyna stirs restlessly, her chubby legs kicking against the edge of the crib. 

Bucky jerks briefly, roused by the sound of his daughter's distress, but soon settles down as Reyna quiets. You stroke her hair, humming a lullaby underneath your breath, tucking the sweater in your hand around her body. She curls around it, her eyes fluttering closed, exhaustion completely taking over her small frame.

“Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles awake you when you rise. Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby,” you sing softly. “Once, there was a way to get back homeward. Once, there was a way to get back home. Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby.” you repeat the song over and over until your own eyes begin to droop, and soon your safely in the arms of sleep where the thoughts of a life lost doesn’t plague you, and you know nothing but peace.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I'm back, I got over my little hiccup with the giant turd monkey, and posting will resume as per usual. 
> 
> I have one thing to ask of you though: 
> 
> Please be kind to one another, words can do more damage than you think.

You awoke the next morning with a hollow pit in your stomach. You had fallen asleep half draped over Reyna’s crib, her tiny hand clutching at your index finger. Her blonde curls splayed wildly around her head casting her face in golden light. She looked so much like the woman you despised, a constant reminder of what you had lost. 

It was a sick feeling, one filled to the brim with equal parts guilt and defiance. She was innocent of all wrongdoing. She hadn’t asked to be born nor had she wanted to be the product of so much heartache, yet you couldn't help the resentment you felt toward her. It was unfair to pin your feelings of loss on her, but as you stared down at her angelic face all you could see was her mother. 

The walls felt like they closing in on you, and for a split second you truly believed you were about to descend into madness, your head was spinning with dizziness, your hands clammy. Ivanna’s face swam in the front of your mind. You were going to scream, you could feel it, your lips part in an “O” shape. Your vocal cords strain against your throat, you suck in a breath, ready to let it out when your phone begins to vibrate. Your mouth snaps shut with a muted squeak. Your hand snaps to the phone laying on a table next to the chair as you shoot from your seat. Crossing the room quickly and closing the door quietly behind you, you hit the accept button on your screen. 

“Hello?” 

Heavy breathing is all you hear. A wheeze which sounds almost painful, a ragged guttural sound which, regardless of your training sets your nerves on edge. 

“Hello? Who is this?” you repeat. 

Again the person on the other end merely breathes, not saying a word.

A horrible sense of foreboding settles in your gut. You hit the end call button, resting your head against the steel of Bucky’s bedroom door. It was probably just a prank call, a bored teenager who had randomly dialed a phone number and came up with yours. The fear you felt was completely unfounded, and you were being incredibly paranoid. It had to be paranoia. 

Your phone begins to vibrate in your hand again, an unknown number flashing on your screen. Your forehead scrunches. This was a Stark Tech phone. There was no such thing as an unknown number on these cells, or there wasn't supposed to be. Your inner monologue is abruptly cut off as the door behind you swings inwards, pushing you off balance, and you fall backward, effectively throwing you into Bucky’s muscled chest. 

“Shit!” you curse as you hit his solid mass. 

Bucky lets out a muttered, “Woah,” before his sleepy eyes adjust to you. “Hey,” he says awkwardly, his eyes wide as he looks at you. 

You hurriedly push yourself out of his reach, attempting to fight the hot blush rising to your cheeks. “Morning, Sergeant.” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Can we cut the Sergeant, please? You know how I feel about it.” 

Again the blush threatens to make its way onto your face. God, you were such an idiot. You had sat through many therapy sessions with Bucky, heard his deepest secrets and biggest fears. The rank of Sergeant held too many memories of war, of his fall, and it was a sure fire way to get Bucky riled up. “I’m sorry, Ser... um, Bucky.” 

He nods absently, looking away from your face, worrying at his bottom lip. It’s the same look he gets when he’s about to say something you don't like. 

You're about to open your mouth to stop his words when he beats you to the punch. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, “for Reyna,” he clarifies, obviously taking the stupefied look on your face for one of confusion instead of one of shock. 

You were not expecting gratitude. At all. “I was tired,” you blurt, a hint of a smile quirks his lip upwards. 

“My girl has some pipes,” he replies, his eyes twinkling fondly. “I haven't slept that well since this round of teething started,” he says and you both descend into a painful silence. 

Your eyes darting around the deserted corridor determined to look anywhere but at him. Again your phone begins to vibrate, another unknown number lighting up your screen. 

“Listen...” Bucky says drawing your attention away from the device. “I wanna say thank you, y’know, for helping with Reyna. Would you maybe like to get dinner? Or maybe a coffee? That café you like is still open.”

You shut down instantly, your face going completely blank, your emotions retreating behind your walls. Your posture straightens, your muscles tense, and you shake your head. “That’s quite alright, James. There’s no need,” you reply coolly, hiding your panic behind a mask of indifference. 

Bucky grimaces, his posture mirroring yours. “No, it’s not,” he replies equally cool. 

You resist the urge to gape at him, choosing instead to raise an eyebrow and cock your head to the side. 

Bucky merely stares unfazed at your reaction. “We live together, routinely run head first into a war zone and gunfights together. There must be some measure of trust between us. Coffee seems like a reasonable place to start,” he explains. 

“Trust?” your eyes nearly bug out of your head “What reason do I have to trust you of all people?” you demand, jabbing your finger into the center of his chest, the urge to clock him square in the face overwhelming. The gall of this man! The audacity and entitlement he held was unparalleled, and you were, under no circumstances, going anywhere with this asshole. 

“He’s right, (Y/N). You and Buck need to find common ground. The team needs to be a solid unit or people die,” Steve pipes up, apparently having come out of his room as Bucky made his ridiculous proposal. 

“You can’t be serious, Steve?” you reply in disbelief, the betrayal by your friend stinging harder than you thought it would. 

“Deadly serious. How do you expect us to do our jobs if your personal life clouds your opinion of a team member?” he points out, rather rationally, however, it only serves to make you angrier. 

Your fists clench at your sides, your teeth grinding together so hard you can feel Bucky wince behind you. “My emotions have never gotten in the way of a mission.” 

“(Y/N), пожалуйста.” Please. He says it so softly for a moment you think you’ve imagined it, and your rational mind knows your beat, but your heart seems to have other ideas. 

“Нет!” No! “Я не буду находиться рядом с тобой дольше, чем требуется!” I will not subject myself to your presence for longer than I need to! You turn as you speak, looking Bucky fixedly in the eye as you spit the words, your anger finally getting the better of you. 

Your phone chooses that moment to vibrate again, the same caller as before, and you clench your jaw in frustration. 

“I don’t think you understand, (Y/N), that was an order. You both need to sit down and hash this out. I will not have my team compromised, or worse lose someone because the two of you can’t put the past aside.” 

“Steve-” your protesting is abruptly cut off. 

“That's an order (Y/N) from your Captain.” 

Your phone cuts itself off, the screen lighting up, informing you that you had a voicemail. You stare at Steve, refusing to believe he had pulled the Captain card on you. He had never needed too, but it seemed you weren't getting out of this. Grudgingly, you had to admit his logic was sound despite your feelings to the contrary. 

“Fine. One hour. Capello’s,” you snap, throwing them both a withering glare over your shoulder as you march to your room, slamming the door shut petulantly. 

Breathing harshly, you unlock your phone and dial voicemail. Your anger dissipates replaced by the familiar acidic burn of fear, the hair on your arms stands on end, the back of your neck prickling uncomfortably as the same sound as before crackles over the line. 

The only thing you could hear was heavy breathing.


	13. Chapter 13

It took you twenty minutes to shower, throw on leggings, a hoodie and some mascara before you were out the door. The cap of your hoodie was drawn low on your forehead to obscure your identity. It was the worst part of the job for you, being recognized in the streets by the citizens you served You had spent too many years in exile to welcome their attention. It unnerved you, put you on edge, and right now you needed all your wits. As it stood you were already nervous. Your cell phone had rung another sixteen times before you turned it off, making a mental note to consult Tony about the phone calls.

You hated this. While you had vowed to yourself to be friendly toward Bucky, to let none of your animosity be a part of your working lives, it had been exceptionally difficult to mask your emotions toward him. There were too many memories, too many emotions tied to him, and while you had reconciled with Steve, you were irrationally angry at his interference. You understood his view. Hell, if you were in his position you would have demanded the same thing, but you resented it, and consequently, him.

Your feet falter on the sidewalk, the hair on your neck standing to attention as the feeling of being watched makes itself known. Your fingers twitch as you instinctively reach for a weapon that is not there. Mentally cursing yourself, you drop to one knee and pretending to tie the laces of your sneakers while scanning the crowd for any suspicious faces. Your eyes spend mere seconds on each person that comes into your line of sight. Young, and old fall under your trained eye. Smooth with youth and wrinkled with age, male, and female, not one of them stands out. Getting to your feet, you chalk up your paranoia to your impending meeting with Bucky, but the feeling will not go away. You are plagued by it, and at the most opportune moment you slip down an alleyway, and scale a wall using the uneven bricks of the building to haul yourself up to the roof. 

Cappelo’s is one block away. You could stick to the alleys and slip around the back of the restaurant, entering through the kitchen. As far as you knew the place had not changed hands since last you had been there, and you and the owners had been on friendly terms before you left. It could work. 

Nodding to yourself, you take a lingering look around the area, attempting to find whomever had been following you. Again you come up with nothing. Instead, you curse yourself for your apparent inability to walk down the street without feeling like someone was going to get you. 

You drop the wall fairly quickly, dusting yourself off, and jog through the alleyways to your meeting with Bucky. 

****

By the time you had slid into the booth seat opposite Bucky you were fuming. This is not what you had planned for today. This conversation is not what you wanted. You didn’t want to speak to him about any of this. It was too painful, still too raw. 

Bucky was radiating nerves, fidgeting mindlessly with the table mat in front of him. 

Already beyond frustrated, you needed this over now. 

“Can we get on with this, please? Say what you need to say so we can pretend like we don’t hate each other,” you snap, clenching your fists underneath the table. Your jaw ticks with the force of your frustration. 

“(Y/N),” he sighs, exasperated. 

“Don’t (Y/N) me. I do not know how you thought this was going to go. I don’t want to be here, I do not want to have this talk with you. I do not particularly like you, and Steve forcing me to do this was out of line. So, get on with it!” 

Bucky snorts a humorless laugh. “And last night?” he probes. “You didn’t have to help me. Yet you did. That tells me there’s a possibility of something more than abject hate.” 

You stare at him disbelief, ignoring the small voice in your head that vehemently agreed with his declaration. “Bucky, I have had a total of four hours sleep in forty-eight. I was tired. I didn’t help you because I thought you deserved it.”

“You stayed,” he counters. 

“I fell asleep!” you snap. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

You push down the urge to punch him in the face, to inflict bodily damage. “I don't care what you believe.” 

Bucky eyes you warily, before he heaves out a sigh. “Would you care if I told you the truth? If I gave you answers?”

You contemplate his words for a minute. It had been the only thing you wanted since it happened. Answers. Closure. You still had no idea where you had gone wrong, what you had done to push him into the arms of someone else. Why you weren’t enough for him anymore. It weighed heavily on your heart, perhaps this would bring the peace you sought, perhaps you would sleep better at night. 

“I’m listening.” Settling yourself comfortably in the booth, intertwining your hands in your lap, you wait patiently for him to explain himself. 

Bucky takes a deep breath and begins to explain. He starts with the mission, sparing no detail. Your heart sinks lower and lower as describes what he saw, what he went through in that room. How he watched you die. How Rumlow had taunted him through your apparent demise. 

It was heartbreaking to be sure. You truly did feel empathy for him, however, it didn’t excuse an affair. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, James, but it doesn’t explain Ivanna.” 

Bucky swallows thickly before gazing out the window as if to prepare himself for what he was going to reveal next. “She was convenient, someone who didn’t particularly care about the things I saw on a daily basis. She didn't ask, I didn't tell her.” 

You snort loudly. “You’re lying, and I’m leaving.” Standing from your seat, Bucky’s hand shoots out and grabs yours. 

“Wait.” His eyes are pleading. Such a startling look of sincerity is on his face you sit back down without any input from your brain. 

“My mind convinced me you were dead. You were right in front of me. Living, breathing, trying to save us, and I couldn’t believe it. I saw you die, heard your screams. Logically I knew it was just a trick on Rumlow’s part, but...” he sighs, closing his eyes as the memories return. “She was there. She was warm and sweet. At first, she filled the void, the emptiness your loss had created. It was easy enough to transfer my feeling for you onto her. Before I knew what was happening, she had replaced you in my head. All I could see when I looked at you was death. All I saw was your blood on my hands.” 

Gaping at his admission, feeling both angered and terribly saddened by his monologue, you open your mouth to reply, but he apparently had more to say. 

“I was a coward. I couldn’t face you. I was afraid you would hate me for failing you. By the time I realized what I was doing, I was addicted to her, to the normality of being with her. It was so different from what we had. I never worried about whether she would come back from a mission, about Hydra taking her from me. It was... easy.” 

“You should have just told me, Bucky. None of this would have happened. Our lives could be so different,” you reply sadly. Somehow during his speech you had taken his hand in your own, subconsciously lending him comfort as he bore his heart to you. 

“I know, and I will forever regret it. Reyna is the only good thing to come out of all this.” He squeezes your hand briefly before pulling away from you. 

You instantly miss the warmth he provided. 

“I could never ask you to forgive me. I won't ask you to forgive me. I just want the opportunity to gain your friendship, to one day regain your trust. To work together without animosity.” 

The truthfulness of his words resonates deeply within you, and you find yourself softening toward him, marginally. “I don’t think I could offer you forgiveness, James. And trust is something which doesn’t come easily to me.” 

His face falls, defeat written across his features. 

“But… I’m willing to try. I don’t relish the tension, or the hurt I carry inside. It’s been so long since I truly felt at peace. Perhaps attempting to put the past behind us would speed up the process.” 

His face lights up with cautious hope, a relieved laugh escapes his lips. “Thank you,” he says, before adding, “Natalia is going to be happy. She’s been on my case for years to make things right.” 

You frown. “Natalia? She’s discussed this with you?” 

It’s Bucky’s turn to frown. “Yeah, since before you found out. She told me to stop it.” 

Your heart turns to ice, your face going curiously blank. “Natalia knew? Before I did?” 

Bucky pales, his face showing his horror as he realizes you had no idea your best friend had known about the affair before you did. “Natalia told me if i didn't tell you, she would. Isn’t that why you were at the bar that night? Natalia told you where I was?” He asks hopefully, the alternative would shatter you, he knew, and you had suffered enough at his hand. 

“No. She didn't say a word. Thank you, Bucky. I’m glad we had this conversation. I’ll see you at the compound,” you mumble, hastily hoisting yourself from your seat and striding from the building.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky mutters, watching you bolt from the restaurant. “I’ve gone and done it this time!”


	14. Chapter 14

Meath An Mhi; Leinster Province two days before the sit down with Bucky

Andrew POV:

A dark haired man enters the opulent room. His impeccably tailored suit fits him perfectly, his designer shoes polished to a gleam. A red manilla folder is clutched in his hand. He nods slightly at Andrew who claps his hands together, convening the meeting. 

Eight of his most trusted advisors sit around a board table all facing a large projector in the middle of the room. He clicks the remote and (Y/N)’s face fills the screen. His heart thuds painfully in his chest. His worst fears had been invoked when you hadn't checked in like you should. Had his enemies found you? Had you been kidnapped? Were you alive? Dead? 

He had immediately dispatched his best people when he realized you were not coming back. Within hours he had information which shattered him. You had lied to him, used him. He was nothing more to you than a mark with a peerage. 

And yet, still, he craved you, needed you, held a burning love for you which threatened to consume him. It was driving him mad. 

“Report!” he snaps, his voice hoarse with disuse. 

The man bows before speaking. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N). Ex-KGB assassin. Eighty-four kills under her belt. Current member of the group known as “The Avengers”. Trained in the facility known as “The Red Room”. Enhanced female, she was injected with the same serum as Captain Rogers, albeit a much smaller dose than he received”

Andrew drums his fingers impatiently on the table, his eyes darkening with irritation. “I know all this! What was her purpose here, with me,” he demands. 

The man swallows thickly, sweating visibly under Andrews piercing gaze. “We don’t know, your grace.” 

Andrew growls under his breath, a menacing sound which has the other members in the room shifting nervously in their seats. “Then what, pray tell, are we doing here?” 

The man stumbles over his words, fear at the mad look in his master’s eyes overcoming him. 

Andrew slams his fists down on the table, an inhuman roar tearing through his chest. His chair scrapes violently backwards, overturning with the force. “Two years!” he yells, “Two years she shared my bed, lived in my home. I told her my secrets! You cannot tell me she felt nothing! You cannot tell me she didn't love me!” His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. Eyes flashing dangerously, his fingers twitch on the table as he struggles to contain his anger. 

He wouldn't believe you felt nothing for him. Too much happened, too much had been shared. Something must have happened to call you away. There must have been some reason you had left. 

You loved him. You had too. 

“We have her contact information, your grace.” 

Andrew breathes out, his heart tugging painfully at the prospect of hearing your voice once again. “Give it to me” 

**********

He had sent one of his men to follow you to gain as much information as he possibly could about your life. His own attempts at making contact had failed miserably. He phoned near twenty times, each going horribly wrong as soon as you picked up the phone. 

He was currently sitting in the same room as the last time, staring at a high resolution video of you having a conversation with one James Buchanan Barnes, widely known as The Winter Soldier. 

And you were holding his hand. 

Andrews blood was boiling. You were his and his alone, made for him, meant for him, this Bucky, was attempting to steal what rightfully belonged to him. 

You’d worn his ring, accepted his proposal, and he would have you. 

“Report!” he barks. 

“The subject was seen having an intense conversation with James Barnes. She left forty five minutes after initial contact. We could not get close enough to discern what was being said.” 

Andrew burns with jealousy, his teeth grinding together with the force of the emotion. “Are they sleeping together?” he dreads the answer.

Eriker, the man sent to follow you, hesitates before answering, in Andrews opinion rather evasively. “We have no evidence of sexual activity, your grace. No other physical contact, beside the hand holding which took place during the meeting. Miss (Y/L/N) seem to hold animosity toward Mr. Barnes.” 

Andrew calms down marginally. “What do we know about Barnes besides the obvious?” he asks impatiently. 

Eriker glances down to an unseen desk before replying in his signature monotone voice. “James Barnes, widowed a little over a year ago. Wife, Ivanna Volkova, died due to childbirth complications, an internal hemorrhage went undetected and she bled out. The child survived. Named Reyna Barnes, attends Philip Berley preschool of the arts.” 

“Anything else?” Andrew asks, the information he was receiving seemed lacking. He was starting to feel like he would never find out the truth. 

“Nothing, your grace. Mr. Barnes’s privacy is very well protected. I don't think we can find out more. What we have obtained was nearly impossible to get.” 

Andrew nods. “Return home, your job is done.” 

Eriker disconnects and Andrew contemplates his options. 

He was under no circumstance going to drop the issue. You belonged with him and he would have you, but being subtle was not his strong suit. If he was going to do what he wanted to, it would require skill and finesse on his part.

He taps his chin with his forefinger absently, his foot jumping restlessly. He would need help from people he was not used to dealing with. Mind made up, he reaches for the phone, dialling the number the chairman of Leinster Co. had passed to him “In case of emergency”. Steve Perry was a shady man, but he was a genius and kept the board firmly in check. 

He nods to his butler who had been standing discreetly at the door “Pack my things and inform the pilot I want to leave for New York within the hour.” 

The phone rings six times before Steve picks up. “I need your help,” Andrew informs the unknown man. “I need to get to an Avenger” 

Laughter crackles over the line. “Well, your grace, you have definitely come to the right man.”


	15. Chapter 15

Your mind was reeling as you walked back to the compound. Confusion at Bucky’s declaration about Natasha, hurt at her betrayal set your mind racing. She was your best friend. Nearly eighteen years you had known her, confided in her, kept no secrets from her. Yet, when you needed her to tell you the truth she had withheld it from you. 

It made you sick to your stomach. 

Why would no one just be honest with you? What was it about you that made it impossible to confide in? The conversation with Bucky chooses that moment to pop back into your head. Sighing unhappily you stop in the middle of the walkway, oblivious to the people around you. 

What were you supposed to do with this information? You had spoken little of your own feelings on the matter. You had no inclination to open this can of worms. You’d masked every bit of it in cool indifference, but inside you were a mess. It felt like a stadium stampede. Everything trying to get out all at once and nothing giving quarter because the truth of the matter was that you still loved him. It sounded incredibly pathetic, you knew, but you couldn't help it. He was your everything for so long, the only man you had ever trusted, who’d broken through your defenses with a startling determination which served to scare and exhilarate you. 

His betrayal hurt more than you thought it could. 

You survived the red room and the KGB, returned relatively unscathed from numerous missions. You would take every bullet, every punch, every slice of your enemies knives over feeling the sharp and bitter sting of love rejected. Of being deemed unworthy of him. You understood his reasoning better now. It didn't pardon his transgression, but you understood the why now. 

It did nothing to lessen your feelings of self-hatred. If only he had spoken to you, confided in you, things would have turned out differently. You had no doubt in your mind you could have helped him come to terms with his grief. You understood loss, no matter if the person who you thought dead still lived. You had seen many an agent fall to Hydra, switching sides faster than you thought possible, some who you deemed friends. 

You resume walking, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. You were a few short steps away from the tower, and you needed to regain composure before you spoke to Tony. Your phone had started ringing as soon as you switched it on. Seven times in the short walk back. A dreadful foreshadowing had settled in your gut as soon as it started, and you needed answers immediately before Natalia returned from her mission. You needed a clear head if you were going to confront her. 

Anger didn't work with Natalia. Rational, calm debate did. She would often resort to scathing sarcasm if she felt attacked, shutting down all emotion, effectively making it impossible to resolve any sort of tension.

You suck in a calming breath before entering the lobby. You could do this. You could pretend. You’d been doing it for years.

********  
“Tony!” you holler loudly as you enter the lab. The distinct crash of metal implements has you screwing your eyes shut tightly. You tiptoe cautiously forward, a muttered, “Son of a bitch,” alerting you to his location. You stifle a laugh at Tony’s expense, who had obviously been working on updating a suit. Your unexpected visit causing him to weld through one helmets eye socket. 

“You couldn’t have let F.R.I.D.A.Y know you were here? I’ve been working on this all day.” 

You grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, not used to announcing myself.” 

He snorts loudly. “No call for an assassin who calls first?” His eyes twinkle mischievously, his face lighting up with a rarely seen smile. 

“Shut it, Poindexter,” you bitch good naturedly. “I need a favor.”

Tony’s interest is immediately piqued. You never asked for anything, relying on your own skills to get by. “I always knew, deep down, you would break eventually. Life just isn't the same without me in it. Spill.” 

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you hand him your phone. He looks at you with utter confusion. “It’s a cellphone,” he says, enunciating each word incredibly slowly.

“Yes, I know that smart ass. If you would let me explain we might be done before Christmas.” 

Tony mimes zipping his lips closed and tossing away the key, folds his hands demurely in his lap and bats his brown eyes at you. While you enjoyed Tony’s company, you hated when he was like this. Speaking to him while he was working on a project was like pulling teeth. 

“I’ve been receiving unknown number phone calls. Nearly forty in the last twenty-four hours. I tried a trace. The signal bounces off too many towers to pinpoint. I was hoping you would have better luck.” 

Tony frowns deeply. “That’s impossible. These phones are equipped to reject unknown numbers if they can't identify them. I coded them myself.” 

“I know, which is why I came to you.” 

Tony rolls back in his chair, plugging the phone into F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s network. “Did the caller say anything?” he asks, his eyes glued intently to the code in front of him. 

“Just heavy breathing.”

Tony does a double take, his face morphing from annoyance to concern in a split second. “You’ve been getting creepy, heavy breathing phone calls from an unknown number on a Stark tech phone for twenty-four hours, and you didn't think to tell someone sooner?” he asks calmly. 

You shrug sheepishly. “Didn't seem like a big deal.” 

Tony looks at you with mild horror, but you’re saved from his lecture by F.R.I.D.A.Y. “There is a delivery for you, miss, in the lobby.” It’s your turn to frown, a sliver of worry gnawing at your gut. You bid Tony a hasty goodbye before hightailing to it the lobby, your nerves on fire.

The doors of the elevator ping open in time for you to see Bucky strolling into the building. His eyebrows raise as he catches your concerned expression. His pace picks up as he walks in your direction, his posture stiff. 

You make your way to the front desk where a large vase of dead roses rests. You glance at the front desk receptionist who shrugs at you, clearly more confused than you are. 

Bucky steps in beside you, eyeing the flowers suspiciously. “Those for you?” 

The receptionists nods in confirmation as you grab the vase, inspecting it with a trained eye. A note stuck to the vase catches your attention. Unpinning it, you open it carefully. Your blood turning to ice as you read the single word scrawled untidily in red ink. 

“What the hell?” Bucky exclaims angrily beside you, snatching the note out of your hand. Scrutinizing it intently, his eyes snap to your quickly paling face. “Hey, doll, you alright? Do you need to sit down?” he asks worriedly. Grabbing your elbow, afraid your knees may buckle, he has never seen you shaken like this. You had been threatened and survived life and death situations, and not once had you shown an ounce of fear. “Doll?” Bucky asks again. 

You raise your eyes to meet his, your icy facade dropping. You place your hand over his at your elbow which he drops in favor of your hand, squeezing your fingers gently. 

“Do you know who this is from?” 

You shake your head slowly, going through the long list of enemies in your head. None of them would send something so intimate. So possessive. 

“We need to tell Steve,” Bucky says, handing the note back to you and steering you to the elevator. 

The four letters glare at you from the paper. One word. Four letters. Enough to send you spiraling into panic. 

Mine.


	16. Chapter 16

Flashback

“Мудак!” asshole, she screams. Her usually beautiful face twisted into something foul, red and blotchy, fake tears streaming down her face. She hurls a vase at Bucky’s head which he dodges artfully, hissing in anger as it makes contact with the wall. 

“You’re acting insane!” he yells, dodging various projectiles as he moves toward her at lightning speed, grabbing her by the upper arms. 

“You are a liar!” Ivanna spits. “You promised me a better life!” she struggles to free herself from his grip, failing miserably as Bucky’s strength effectively cages her. 

“What the fuck are you talking about!” he demands, completely lost. He had walked through the door to a screaming and irate woman, barely able to make out a word she was saying. 

“The party!” 

Bucky stares at her, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend that a missed party would solicit this reaction from her. Sure, their relationship had not been perfect. She seemed perpetually unhappy with his proclivity for staying home. Not being comfortable among large crowds, he knew she had strayed somewhat. To what degree he couldn't be sure. 

He should have left. He was painfully aware he should have packed his bags long ago, but she was all he had left besides Steve. He sacrificed a two year loving relationship to be with her, his reasoning be damned. He wasn't going to give her up. He couldn't. 

“It’s a party Ivanna, ты смешной.” You’re being ridiculous, he says calmly, watching her face morph into one of pure rage. 

“You are a fraud,” she hisses into his face. “I thought I was dating an Avenger! A real man! Someone with a future! Instead, I am doomed to stay at home and watch you mope. I can't take it anymore!” 

Bucky sighs heavily, her words stinging sharply in his chest. She was right. He wasn’t a man, he was a shell, a hermit, he barely left the house if not for a mission. “I’ll try harder, be better,” he mutters, the humiliation too much for him to bear. 

She laughs scornfully, her blue eyes glinting with malice. “You are nothing! Nothing but a broken man. Good enough to fuck, not good enough to love.” 

Her smile bright on her face, Bucky’s heart plummets into his stomach. Flashes of his life with Hydra swim in his head. She was right. Always right. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” he repeats over and over, his grip on her arms slacking. 

“You are pathetic, James,” she says venomously as she rips her arms away from him and storms out of the house, leaving Bucky shaking in the middle of the living room floor. 

Present. 

Bucky ushers you to the couch in the common area. You’re acutely aware of him speaking, but it's distant like you’re listening to him underwater. Your mind has gone into lockdown, scanning every memory you had for possible suspects. Every target, their families, every KGB and Hydra agent you knew, there were so many possibilities, so many people who could be holding a grudge. You were no angel, and your list of enemies was a long one, but mine? That was too possessive to be someone who hated you. A jilted lover maybe? 

You snort softly, you could count the number of people you had a real relationship with, on one hand, so maybe a mark? 

Agitated, you stand abruptly. Pacing the length of the common room floor, you clasp your hands behind your back. 

“Doll?” Bucky asks calmly, inserting himself in your line of sight. 

Your eyes connect with concerned blue ones, and you rein in your flaring panic. “I’m fine.” 

Bucky quirks a brow. “Like hell you are!” 

You make an impatient noise in the back of your throat, trying to sidestep him rather unsuccessfully. 

“Tell me what’s happening,” Bucky demands. 

You merely shake your head. “I need Steve,” you reply hastily, again trying to move around him. 

Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist, halting your movement. “Stop. Breathe. Tell me what’s going on, I can help you.” 

You weigh your options carefully. Even after your conversation with Bucky, you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him what was happening. A part of you, a big part of you, still wanted to hold him at arm's length, and you were smart enough to realize it was going to go away anytime soon. “I need Steve,” you reiterate. 

Bucky sighs softly. “He isn’t here. Fury called him and Banner to assist with Natasha’s extraction. It’s just us and Tony. Sam’s gone home to Harlem. It’s the anniversary of his mother's death,” Bucky replies, eyeing you with an emotion you can't place. To your surprise he steps away from you, putting distance between you. 

You puff out a breath, disappointment and relief mingling.

“I get it,” he says. 

“Do you?” you reply immediately. 

He nods. “I understand more than you think.” 

You regard him for a moment, surprised at his restraint. Bucky was usually one to push if he thought someone was in danger, especially someone who was close to him. It was completely out of character for him to let it go. 

“I’m here, y’know? If you need to talk. I know we ain't on the best of terms, but I’ll protect you with my life,” he says seriously, and for some unfathomable reason, it hits you harder than you thought it would. 

Your lower lip trembles, a weird sort of relief washing over you. You let out a sound caught somewhere in between a sob and a laugh and launch yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly. You’re grateful he didn't push you away but was willing to give you the space he thought you needed. 

Bucky goes stiff under your touch, then his arms tentatively wrap around you, returning your embrace with gentleness you had sorely missed.

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

He grunts in reply, stroking your hair soothingly. 

Your hands bunch into his shirt, crumpling the fabric. You're clinging to him tightly, basking in every modicum of comfort he provides. 

He pulls away from you slightly, swiping a thumb across your cheek. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, naked emotion splayed across his face. 

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of his proximity, of how close you are to him. How hard he is underneath your fingertips, the scent of his cologne in your nostrils. Your heartbeat grows erratic. 

You step away from him quickly, clearing your throat, Your eyes downcast as he blows out a shaky breath. What the fuck are you doing (Y/N), your mind supplies helpfully, cursing yourself for the vulnerability you displayed in his presence. 

“(Y/N) I-” he begins. 

You interject quickly, “Thank you, Bucky, I’ll see you around.” With that you make a hasty retreat to your room, wondering what the fuck you were doing. Why did seeking comfort from him feel so incredibly right. The man had broken your heart into a million pieces. Shattered your faith in love. He’d destroyed your dreams.

Yes, you loved him. 

He was inherently good, regardless of his actions. He saved people with little regard for his own life. He always had a kind word for a passerby. Even though life had not treated him kindly, he had worked hard to give himself a sense of normality, and he gave everything he had to his daughter. 

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck!

You loved Bucky Barnes. You always had, as a friend, but you were swiftly coming to realize you were still very much in love with him, and that startling realization sent you deep into the depths of panic. You didn't want to be in love with him. You couldn’t be in love with him. 

Shouldn’t it be impossible? He caused so much pain, so much damage. Yet when you looked at him, the tentative sparks of the love you had so deeply buried flared up into new life. 

“Fuck!” you curse loudly. 

It was too much. The note, Bucky, the phone calls. You couldn't deal with it, didn't want to deal with it. “God, (Y/N), get it together!” you chastise yourself. Groaning aloud, you run a hand through your hair. Tugging at the ends harshly, you try to calm your mind to no avail. Resigning yourself to the fact that you were going to have to face this, you march to your still half packed backpack. Rummaging around for a full five seconds before pulling out three bars of chocolate, you throw yourself on the bed and unwrap the first slab. 

Chocolate solves everything. You could deal with this, would have to deal with this. If not the local grocery store would see a doubling in chocolate sales because Bucky was in your blood. He was mapped into your DNA, and you were finally realizing it was there he would stay, regardless if you wanted him to or not.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang:   
> Are you rationed: are you going steady/are you seeing anyone?  
> Dropped: To kill  
> Behind the eight ball: In a difficult position, in a tight spot

The air in the room was stifling, thick and heavy like a duvet pulled too tight over your chest. Kicking it off with haste, legs swinging with a jerk in your irritation, you let out a heavy sigh. Sitting up, you grimace at the sweat stains which have appeared on the blue tank top you had worn, dark marks accumulating in a ‘V’ shape on your chest. “F.R.I.D.A.Y I need the A.C on, please.” 

Her reply is instant. “Yes, Miss.” 

The cool blast of air which follows eases your ire some. You were beyond tired, your mind had refused to shut off during the night. You had thrashed and groaned until four am when you had finally fallen into a restless sleep.

Bucky had plagued your thoughts during the night. Tumultuous emotions had run through your head at an alarming rate. Fear and anger, love and hate. All had formed a giant lump in your chest. You did not know what to make of Bucky’s confession, nor did you know how to deal with the intense attraction. The sheer rightness which had accompanied the embrace you shared and the heat in his gaze had sent a jolt of electricity up your spine which had left you shaking for hours afterward.

You're conflicted. Bucky was your first love, the man you had opened your heart to. You’d share your secrets with him. There was nothing he didn’t know about you. Every dark secret, every name on your victim list, every fear you held had been shared with him. It had never occurred to you he would betray the trust you had placed in him. Yet he had, he’d destroyed your faith in love, in him. 

But, somehow, he seemed changed. You couldn’t put your finger on the how, and it was driving you nuts.

Rising from the bed and striding toward your wardrobe, you fling open the doors. When a knock sounds at the door, you blink twice before calling, “Come in,” to the person on the other side. 

Bucky bursts through, Reyna perched on his hip. His eyes are wild with panic, but Reyna was sucking with a focused contentment on the edge of the blue sweater you’d left in her crib some nights ago. 

This squeezes your heart, a warmth spreading in your chest for some unknown reason.

“I need your help,” Bucky says, his words rapid fire, his face breaking out in a slight flush. 

Your eyes widen as you drink in his appearance. 

The red collared shirt he had worn is done up in a zigzagged pattern, every second button missed. It was wrinkled and had what looked like a milk stain on his right sleeve. His black jeans had a similar rumple to them, the edges of the hem frayed with walking. His hair looked like it hadn't seen a brush in a while, and you could have sworn there was a coco puff dangling from a chocolate strand. 

“I can see that,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “Did you look in the mirror this morning?” 

He groans aloud, as Reyna smacks him in the face with her Unicorn, giggling at her father's distress. “I know. There was an outbreak of flu at the school, so I decided to keep Reyna here until it passed. I forgot I had a meeting with my therapist so I called her babysitter, but she’s not available.” Bucky babbles, his words running together with the speed of his speech.

You level him with a blank stare. 

Reyna tugs at the ends of his hair, he grunts and moves her hand away with a stern, “No.” 

Her lower lip trembles, her bright blue eyes welling with unshed tears. 

Bucky sighs and places a kiss on her forehead, shushing her with clear tenderness. “It’s okay, baby girl. Not so hard okay?” He chucks her chin and nuzzles her face, diverting his attention back to you. 

“Therapist?” you ask, keeping your tone light. 

A rosy blush rises in his cheeks, the awkwardness which hangs in the air is acidic. He grins with fake cheerfulness. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, baby doll, but I ain’t all there upstairs.” 

The forties slang that passes unbidden from his lips has you swallowing hard. It rarely happened, the one and only time it had was when he asked if you were seeing anyone. “Babydoll are you rationed?” 

You had laughed until you cried when he explained. To this day it remained one of your fondest memories. “I’m happy for you Bucky, and proud. How long have you been seeing a therapist?” 

He shuffles from one foot to another, his discomfort plain. “I went a week after you left... I could’ve dropped ya, and I didn't deal with the guilt. Sam dragged me to V.A and set me up with a smart broad. She’s helped a lot.” 

You nod, the memory of Bucky’s fist flying toward your face rises unbidden in your head. Your entire body erupts in a shudder, casting your eyes away from him. 

“I’m behind the eight ball here, doll.” He's hesitant, nervousness wafting off of him. “I need a favor”.

You cross your arms over your chest, nodding for him to go on. 

He swallows before he looks at you, Reyna fussing in his arm. “Could you look after Reyna for me? Two hours max,” he asks the hopefulness in his voice tugs at your heartstrings. “There’s a great park, not five minutes from here. She loves it. I could meet you there with lunch?” 

Your heart stutters, your eyes bouncing between Reyna and Bucky. The hesitation must be written on your face because he interjects before you can answer. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can't miss it. I would take her with me, but they don’t have daycare facilities. Please.”

You nod in cautious agreement. 

Bucky’s face breaks into a beautiful smile before he hands Reyna to you. 

She stares up at you, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. Her pudgy hands reach for your face and you fight the urge to flinch. They rest on your cheeks, and she, too, breaks into a smile, announcing “Ini’orn!” 

Bucky sniggers out a laugh, throwing a roguish wink your way. Placing a chaste kiss to Reyna's forehead, murmuring, “My girl has good taste.” 

You blush crimson, holding the baby in your arms as Bucky exits the room. Looking down at her smiling face, you haven’t a single clue what to do with her.

“Uh... hi?” you venture. 

She places a fat kiss on your lips and descends into laughter, making a grab for your hair as she does. 

You can't help but laugh with her. 

The knowledge you would likely lose your heart to this little girl who sat so perfectly in your arms lies heavy in your stomach.


	18. Chapter 18

You decided to take Reyna to the park early. The walls of the tower were closing in you, suffocating you under its weight. 

Reyna was edgy as it was. The departure of her father had resulted in tears and you’d spent a good twenty minutes calming her down. After a quick diaper change, which was a harrowing experience, and an outfit change you trudged toward the kitchen, her diaper bag slung over your shoulder, pushing her pram ahead of you.

You plop Reyna on the kitchen floor, handing her, her favorite unicorn toy. You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets a frenzied attempt to locate child-friendly snacks. You assumed she needed to eat more than three times a day. She was the daughter of a super soldier after all. Who knew what the effects the serum had on her body. She didn’t look any different from other children you had met, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

An intense few seconds followed. The animal crackers were inexplicably missing. 

You finally found them stuffed in the back of the cupboard, and sighed in relief. Returning to Reyna, you head down to the park, ignoring the prickle at the back of your neck. 

You couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching you. It was unnerving, to say the least, causing you to fight the urge to keep checking behind you, relying instead on your other senses. Your eyes stayed focused on the road ahead and Reyna.

The five minutes it took to get to the park felt like an eternity. You knew you were being followed, the eyes boring into the back of your neck hard to miss. 

They were assessing you. Tracking your every move. 

You hoped the park would afford you cover and safety. No one was going to kidnap or harm someone with so many witnesses. It would be ridiculous and stupid to do so. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief as you enter the playground. Nannies and mothers were everywhere. Children of various ages were playing on the equipment. A bright red swing set, a large sandpit, blue monkey bars and a ginormous jungle gym were among the picks to play on. 

You could see why the enjoyed it so much, it was a veritable paradise.

Removing Reyna from her pram, you sit her beside you to apply sunscreen to her delicate skin. She giggles through the entire thing. Her excitement near infectious. “Alright, pretty girl. Let’s get this party started.” You boop her on the nose and haul her into your arms, heading straight for the swing set.

You would vehemently deny it if anyone asked you, but you were enjoying yourself immensely. Despite your slight resentment toward her Reyna was a joyful and happy child, and you found yourself wishing she was yours. 

She kicked and laugh with every push. She would stretch out her little arms as if to touch the sky with a beautiful smile and light in her eyes. Her blonde curls shone like a halo in the warm afternoon sun.

Soon you had forgotten all about the men watching you and the danger you were in. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not today.

*****************

Bucky showed up an hour later. You hadn’t noticed him at first. He sat silently on a bench watching you interact with his daughter. On the monkey bars, on the slide, his face set in a permanent smile. You blushed crimson when you finally did catch his eye, acutely aware you were covered head to toe in dirt. 

Reyna was an enthusiastic sand castle builder and, you’d lost yourself completely in her. It was the happiest you’d felt in a while.

“Having fun?” Bucky asks, trying to suppress the laughter in his voice and failing miserably. He softly removes a twig from your hair, grinning widely the entire time. 

“You did good, Barnes. She’s lovely,” you reply sincerely. 

His smile dies for a second. His eyes dimming with your words, before he plasters it back on. “I can’t take all the credit.” 

You snort in reply. Taking a seat beside the sandbox, Bucky follows suit. “You’re raising her by yourself, Bucky. You can take all the credit.” You pass a spade to Reyna who’s destroying the sand castle you built mere moments before. “You made a beautiful human being. You should be proud.”

Bucky drops his eyes to Reyna, sorrow flashing across his features. 

You’re suddenly aware you’re treading in dangerous territory. You had no idea what you stumbled into, but it was obviously a sore topic. “Bucky?” you ask. 

He sighs before he returns his attention to you. “She’s not mine,” he says softly. 

You swear your eyes bug right out of your head. Your mouth snaps open, then closed with a click, completely lost for words.

“Henry Monrouex,” he says. “Violent drug addict in prison for attempted robbery. He killed two people outside of a bar in Brooklyn. He’s serving two consecutive life sentences in Great Haven Correctional Facility.” Your blank look draws a laugh from him. “He is... was,” he corrects himself, “Ivanna’s lover. After she died, we did paternity. I’m not Reyna’s father.

Courts granted me custody after a couple of months. Steve convinced Henry to sign away his parental rights. He’s not getting out of prison anytime soon, and he never wanted to be a father. But man, did he fight it. The courts weren’t happy either. They went looking for her grandparents. Turns out Ivanna was an orphan. She never told me.”

“Bucky,” you reply sympathetically, placing your hand over his own. 

He smiles warmly. “She’s mine in every way that counts.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It must have been awful.” 

Bucky shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No. doll, I’m sorry.” 

It’s your turn to look at him in confusion. He smiles sadly and squeezes your hand.

“I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. I’m sorry for breaking your heart. I’m sorry for making you feel like you needed to leave. I’m just... sorry.” 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, nodding mutely at his words. 

“But most of all, I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was in front of me. How good I had it. I want you to know, it was never you.” 

You bark out a laugh. “It’s not you, it’s me, huh?” you reply sourly. 

“I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true. It was never you. This was my fault. My doing. My screw up. You are everything I ever wanted. It was never you.”

“Thank you,” you reply, suddenly very tearful. 

It was not what you expected to hear from him. Deep down you’d held onto the thought that the entire thing was your fault. 

For the first time, in two years you felt relieved. You had a sense of closure. And maybe, finally, you could move on.


	19. Chapter 19

You spent the rest of the day in the company of Bucky and Reyna. The former taking you to lunch at a quaint Italian restaurant located close to the park. It was strangely reminiscent of the old days, minus the addition of a tiny human being. 

Laughter was a staple during the meal. Quick jokes and light-hearted banter was plentiful. It was pleasant, and you felt yourself smiling more and more as the day progressed. You could almost delude yourself into thinking you were with your own family. It was bittersweet. 

After lunch, the three of you made your way back to the tower with the intention of watching a movie while you put Reyna down for her afternoon nap. 

She was becoming increasingly cranky as time wore on. The tears were beginning to make an appearance. It was best to pack it up and put her to bed.

You were in a fabulous mood. The day's events had you grinning from ear to ear. It was like you were walking on air. The budding friendship between yourself and Bucky filled the void he had left without putting pressure on you for more. 

You were under no illusions though. You knew what you felt for him, but pursuing a relationship after all that had happened, apology aside was not going to happen. Not anytime soon. Trust was earned. It had been so long, and you didn’t even know if he felt the same way. It wouldn’t matter if he did. 

Your laughter is abruptly cut off as you walk into the common room, your good mood disappearing with alarming speed. You thought you’d have more time. More time to deal with the betrayal, the hurt, and anger. Yet, there she sat, bold as fucking brass. 

The murderous rage takes you slightly off guard. You wanted to gut her, make her bleed for all she had hidden from you. 

Natasha’s eyes dart between you and Bucky. A perfect eyebrow raises in question. 

You snarl, lip curling back, exposing the white of your teeth. 

Her eyes widen a fraction, and she sighs. “Dammit, Barnes. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut?” 

“Shut up!” you spit, your fingers flexing with the need to squeeze something - preferably her throat - very tightly. 

“(Y/N),” Bucky warns. 

You hiss in warning, and he sighs, exiting the room with Reyna. He shoots you a last pleading look before he disappears from view discreetly asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to inform him if things got too violent. He knew how you and Natala dealt with your problems. 

“Sestra,” Natalia warns, her body coiled, ready for action. 

“You lied to me,” you respond flatly, ignoring the grimace on her face. “You took me to that bar knowing what I would find!” Hooking your foot under the lip of the coffee table’s brim, you kick it her direction. Your idea for a calm, rational conversation going straight out the window with the first glimpse of her perfect face.

She drops to the floor as the table crashes into the couch. She rolls into a crouch and attempts to swipe your feet from underneath you. 

You flip over her, using her shoulder as leverage, pivoting on your toes when you land. 

She’s already on her feet, landing a solid punch to your jaw. 

Your head snaps back and you kick her in the solar plexus. 

She grunts and falls onto her back, before flipping back onto her feet. A swift roundhouse is barely dodged. She follows up with a headbutt which connects. 

You stagger backward but recover swiftly.

“You wouldn’t have believed me if I told you!” she yells as you place a lightning-quick sequence of punches to her torso. She grabs your arm and attempts to flip you. 

Breaking the hold, you elbow her square in the nose. Blood erupts from her nostrils and she swipes at the flow. 

“I think you broke my nose,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

You smirk and throw your body into a spinning back fist. 

She blocks and grabs you by the throat, attempting to choke you out. 

Placing both your hands on her forearms you yank down and twist away, ending up behind her. You aim a kick to the back of her knee, bringing her down. You slam her face forward into the carpeted floor, shoving your knee into the space between her shoulder blades, and pinning her to the ground. 

“You should have told me.” 

She grunts. and you flip her onto her back. She brings her uninjured knee up, landing a blow to your kidney. 

You cry out and fall forwards, landing heavily beside her. 

You're both wheezing on the floor, bloody and bruised when she finally speaks. “I didn’t want to be the one who told you. He should have told you from the start. I didn’t want to be the one you saw differently forever. I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“I know. You should have told me anyway.” 

She nods in agreement, taking your hand in her own. “I’m sorry.” 

You snort. “People have been saying that an awful lot lately.” 

She grins turning her head to look at you. “We have a lot to be sorry for.” 

You turn yourself on to your back. Staring at the ceiling above you, you smile. 

“Now that we’ve beaten the shit out of each other, are we good?” 

You breathe out heavily from your nose. “It hurt. You’re the closest thing I have to family. I didn’t expect you to keep secrets from me.” 

She grimaces, turning on her side. 

“But, I get it. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me outright.” 

She smiles widely. A rare sight on her face. “So... Barnes, huh?” she asks cheekily. 

You roll your eyes, unable to stop it if you tried. “God. I need a drink,” you mumble. 

Natalia only cackles evilly next to you.


	20. Chapter 20

3 months later

Three months had passed since your confrontation with Natasha, and things had fallen into a comfortable routine. Long gone were the days of avoiding Bucky at all costs. You had developed a close friendship with him since your day in the park. 

It was a strange phenomenon. 

He would often join you for movie nights with Reyna. You would go to lunch together and babysit. It was domestic and pleasant. Some of the resentment you held was gone, replaced by a sense of belonging.

Reyna had become the light in your life. She was pure sunshine. A happy, healthy child who could charm the pants off of anyone who met her in five seconds or less, and you were not immune to her charm either. She was the great love of your life, and you would, rather literally, walk through the very fires of hell for her. 

She lightened the dark your stalker brought. Whoever it was, was still sending notes and flowers. The phone calls were many, regardless of how many times you changed your phone number. It worried Steve and Bucky to no end. 

Two months in Steve had taken you off active duty. The fear you would be kidnapped or murdered trumped the need for extra hands. You were confined to the tower unless you had an escort. 

You were given the temporary job of media liaison. It was a role you despised. People irritated you. The hounding of the media, searching for a sensational story stoked the fires of your ire, and on more than one occasion you had threatened to disembowel someone. 

Bucky had laughed for days when the interview had aired. “I like em’ feisty,” he teased before sauntering off, leaving you gaping like a startled goldfish in the lobby. 

Bucky was a problem. The feelings you felt had only intensified as your friendship progressed. You found yourself staring at him more often. Seeking out his company. Finding any and all excuses to spend more time with him. 

Your heart was screaming for you to do something. Your head was very much against the idea. 

He had betrayed you once. What stopped him from doing it again? 

It was a conundrum. You fought with yourself daily over it but couldn’t seem to stay away from him. Or Reyna. You grudgingly accepted that this was one of those things which would take time. The wounds on your heart would take more time to heal. It was something you had to accept. 

You laugh loudly as Bucky swings Reyna on the swing set. Her pudgy legs kicking gleefully in the air. You and Bucky would often find yourself at the park, sometimes with a picnic basket. Other times, you would go for a quick lunch afterward. You hadn’t spoken about the affair or Ivanna since Bucky brought it up last, and you were more than happy to ignore it. Bucky seemed in no rush to push you. You were thankful for his restraint. 

The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, but you were loath to pack up your things and go back to the tower. It had been such a pleasant day with your - dare you say it - family. You didn’t want it to end. The thought sent a wave of trepidation through your chest, followed closely by love. 

You were a mess. The entire situation was fraught with obstacles, but you still found yourself smiling as you approached the pair. Reyna’s childish giggle and Bucky’s radiant smile did strange things to your insides. It was both warm and cold. Sighing, you chalk it up as a bad job and squash it down. There was no point in nitpicking. It is what it is. 

“Alright, hooligans! It’s time to go home!” you exclaim loudly, clapping your hands together for emphasis. 

Bucky pouts adorably before hoisting Reyna out of the swing seat. “Party pooper,” he teases. He places a swift kiss to your cheek and hands Reyna to you. 

“Ma!” she yells giddily. 

Both you and Bucky freeze, Bucky’s expression mirroring your own astonished one. 

“Did she just...?” you ask. 

Bucky nods slowly, his face lighting up. “Her first word! And it wasn't Dad!” he grouches playfully. “Traitor,” he chides Reyna. 

She smiles widely, grabbing a chocolate strand of Bucky’s hair and tugging. 

He growls and sweeps her into his arms before throwing her into the air. 

She laughs in delight, reveling in her father's attention, while you stare at the pair, dumbfounded. 

“She called me mom,” you say softly to yourself. 

This child had single-handedly broken down every wall you possessed. Every defense you had. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry. You loved her. With everything you had. She had chosen you to fill the role of mother, and you would do everything you could to be there for her. 

“Are you gonna stand there all day, or are we going home?” Bucky yells over his shoulder, and you hurriedly follow him, a goofy smile on your face. 

*******  
The short walk back to the tower was spent trying to coax variations of “Mom” out of Reyna. The most you got out of her was a firm whack around the head with a Unicorn stuffie. 

Bucky had smiled the entire time. 

You were both unbearably giggly, the euphoria near infectious. 

It all came crashing down as soon as you walked into the tower’s lobby when the receptionist beckoned you over, holding a folded piece of paper in her hand. She was under strict orders not to accept anything for you without contacting Tony first. Tony, however, was currently on an extended vacation with Pepper. They were trying to mend the holes in their relationship. So far, it was working. 

Your feet drag on the marble floors as you approach the desk, the receptionist's grim expression has all your alarm bells ringing. Taking the folded piece of paper from her hand, you bite down on your lower lip as you unfold it with shaky hands. 

The words seem to scream at you, taunting you with the threat. You crumple the paper in your hand and toss it into a wastebasket, nodding at the woman who handed it to you. 

Bucky eyes you with worry. His expression is grim. “Everything okay, babydoll?” he asks, keeping his tone as light as possible. 

“Fine. Everything’s fine” you reply. 

Bucky grunts, not believing a word of it. 

The words from the paper keep flashing in your mind, and you can't shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen. 

It was only three words, yet, they held so much danger. 

I’m watching you.


	21. Chapter 21

You had woken up with a pounding migraine. The weak morning light which filtered through the blinds was enough to send searing pain through your head. It felt as if someone had taken a jackhammer to your skull. 

It was a lovely and warm Saturday, and you’d planned to take Reyna to the American Museum Of Natural History with Bucky. You’d so been looking forward to seeing her delighted face as she beheld a dinosaur for the first time. Groaning out loud, you attempt to swing your legs from the bed only to be met with a stab of pain so strong you have to fight the urge to hurl all over your bedside table. 

You felt truly terrible. You could always ask Bruce to bring you something, but he was probably knee deep in a project. Natasha was with Clint on the farm. Tony was still with Pepper. Steve had mumbled something about Sharon and hadn’t been seen since. Sam was still in Harlem with his family. That left Bruce, yourself and Bucky at the tower. “F.R.I.D.A.Y could you please let the Sergeant know I will be missing our outing? I’m not feeling my best.” 

“Yes, Miss,” The A.I replies. 

You breathe out a thankful sigh and pull the covers over your head, willing yourself to go back to sleep. You drift for what feels like hours. Not fully awake and not fully asleep. The pain in your head ever present. Nausea creeps up on you silently. Barely noticeable at first, but soon it forms a tight ball in your diaphragm, demanding to come out. 

That’s where Bucky finds you. Curled up pitifully on the bathroom floor, whimpering as your stomach rolls and your head pounds. He scoops you up carefully and tucks you back into bed before disappearing again. He returns several minutes later with a worried looking Bruce in tow, who promptly sticks you with the largest needle you had ever seen. Bucky closes your blinds and places a glass of water on your bedside table. He strokes your hair soothingly as you drift off to sleep. 

You can hear them murmuring and the reply of the A.I. Bruce takes a seat next to you. Your eyes droop heavily as the drugs take effect. Your muscles relax as sweet relief from the pain takes over. You don't notice Bucky leaving the room or Bruce promising to take care of you. It all seems rather unimportant. 

Bruce seems rather comfortable with the papers he brought with him. 

The last thing you see is before oblivion sets in is The Hulk with a large cup of tea and a stack of paperwork sitting in the bright red lounge chair beside your bed. 

*****************

You wake hours later. The throbbing had subsided some and you were feeling marginally better. The nausea had abated at least. You dare to crack an eye open. The light no longer makes you feel like clawing your eyes out of their sockets, nor do your muscles feel like they had atrophied in a single night. 

Small miracles. You thank all the Gods you can name for Bruce Banner and his knack for coming up with solutions in a bind. The man was a miracle worker. You make a mental note to buy him a coffee as soon as you were able to stomach more than water. 

“You’re looking slightly less green,” he remarks from his spot at your bedside. 

You let out a snort of laughter, turning your head to look at him. “Really, Bruce? Green?” 

He cracks a tiny smile and shrugs before rising from his seat and asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to read your vitals and take your temperature. They work in tandem for a few minutes when Bruce declares you on the mend. “You should avoid caffeine and chocolate for a while. Drink lots of water and watch your diet.” 

You blanche at the word “Diet”, and Bruce levels you with a stern glare. 

“I know how much cake you can put away, (Y/N). Ice cream, too. Don’t think we have not noticed your cupcake addiction.” 

You lift your chin defiantly. “Chocolate literally grows out of the bark of a tree. It’s practically salad.” 

Bruce arches an eyebrow. 

“Ice cream is made from cream, so that’s diary. Cake in any way, shape, or form is made with eggs. All of this is part of a well-balanced diet.”

Bruce opens his mouth to no doubt form a scathing retort, but your bedroom door flies inward. 

Bucky stumbles through disheveled, takes two steps, and collapses. 

You’re out of the bed faster than you thought possible, ignoring the protests of your muscles as you crouch beside him. It’s then you notice the blood pooling underneath him and the two gunshots wounds. You turn him onto his back and hiss. One gunshot went through his clavicle and one went underneath his left ribs. 

“Shit” you mumble. Rising to your feet you grab two shirts from your dresser and push down hard on both wounds. 

Bruce is already barking orders at the A.I who has somehow mustered up a skeleton crew to help with the emergency. It’s mere minutes before your bedroom is crawling with medical personnel, all working to save Bucky’s life. 

It hits you harder than a freight train. The distinct absence of one person becomes a stark reality. 

“Where is she?” you ask quietly. Four nurses are hauling Bucky onto a stretcher. You’re on your feet and beside him faster than lightning. “Bucky, where is she?” you ask frantically. 

He moans low in his throat and passes out once more. The bastardized version of the serum doing it’s best to knit him back together, but not even it can stay this much blood loss. 

The fear you feel nearly chokes you. It steals your breath and sends ice shooting through your veins. You don't hear yourself screaming. It’s only when Bruce grabs you by the shoulders and begins to shake you, you realize you had been talking at all. 

“Where’s Reyna? Bruce! Where is she?”


	22. Chapter 22

You received the email three hours after Bucky had been declared stable and on the mend. The bastardized version of the serum had saved his life, boosting his recovery time. 

You had gone out and scoured the surrounding areas for any sign of Reyna, finding only Bucky’s blood and Reyna’s Unicorn stuffie on route to the park. You had walked back to the tower in a daze, clutching the toy tightly to your chest. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks going unnoticed. 

You walked silently to the med bay. Ignoring the looks from the nursing staff as you went, you slipped silently into Bucky’s room. The tubes and drips attached to him made you break down in earnest. He looked so vulnerable. Your heart broke down on the spot. You repeated, “I’m sorry,” over and over until your voice went hoarse. It was your fault. You had not taken the threat of the stalker seriously enough. Because of your inattention, an innocent child had been taken away from her father. 

The two great loves of your life had been stripped from you. One lay wounded in a hospital bed, the other was God knows where with God knows who. The only way to make it right was to follow their demands regardless of what it would cost you. 

Bruce clears his throat awkwardly from the door. “The team’s on their way. We’ll get her back.” 

You smile weakly and reply softly, “I know.” 

Taking out your phone, you type a quick email and send it to Steve. He was going to lose his shit something awful, but Reyna was more important than one person. 

A person who had killed. A person who was irredeemable. 

Standing from your chair, you place a lingering kiss on Bucky’s forehead, committing his features to memory. You would probably never see him again. 

The last few years seemed so stupid in comparison. So much pain and heartbreak. So much anger. Over something so trivial in the greater scheme of things. Yet, so much beauty had come from it. 

Bucky had grown. He had sought the help he so desperately needed. Help you could not have given him. Reyna had been brought into the world because of his mistakes, but you found yourself thankful. 

Bucky was never supposed to be yours. Reyna was never supposed to be yours. 

You were a ghost story. A soldier. The apple pie life was not something you were ever going to have. 

It brings a small smile to your face. Finally, you had accepted what you always knew. Love and happiness were for other people. People who deserved it. You were nothing but a shell. 

“I love you,” you whisper softly before leaving the room and heading toward Tony’s lab. You were most likely going to die, but Reyna could still be found. 

With grim determination, you swallow the tiny bug with a glass of water. You were going to take as many of them down as you could, and pray your team could do the rest. 

*************************  
You walked swiftly down the back streets. Your senses were alert and strained. You had been followed as soon as you walked out of the tower. You could hear them. The serum had its perks after all. 

Eight men, all well trained. Their footfalls barely made any sound on the concrete. 

You couldn’t see them either and assumed they were enhanced. Not much made it past you. 

You were dressed entirely in black and were unarmed, a condition of Reyna’s release. It didn’t matter, though. You weren’t planning on fighting them. Not yet. Not until you knew she was safe. You needed to find her first. You needed to get her back to her family. It was the least you could do. 

You stop at the mouth of the alley, making out several figures in the dark. One is surprisingly familiar, and your heart sinks. Still, you walk confidently toward them. Your head held high, fighting the urge to murder every single one of them. 

Stay calm. Be rational. You remind yourself as you come to a stop in front of them. 

“Amelia.” 

“Andrew.” You nod. “Where is the girl?” 

He grins widely before nodding to the unnamed asshole next to him. He promptly dials a number and rattles off instructions for her release. “She’ll be dropped off at the local firehouse with instructions. She’ll be back with her mongrel father soon enough.” 

Your heart pounds frantically in your chest as you weigh your options. He had come fully armed and with an army at his back. You couldn’t fight your way out of this without dying in the process. You had no weapons and no plan. 

Shit. 

Andrew chuckles, triumph written all over his smug face. 

The rage which had been simmering underneath the surface boils over. Before your brain catches up with you, you’ve taken out four of his men. You were attempting to behead a fifth with your bare hands when the shot rang out. 

You stagger backward, hand plastered over your abdomen. When you bring it up to look, it comes away wet. 

The man on the floor leers triumphantly at you. The gun in his hand mocks you. 

How had you not seen it? 

Your knees buckle, and Andrew is beside you in an instant. His hands cradle your head in his lap. “I told you not to harm her!” he yells. 

The unnamed asshole walks up to the man who dared harm you and fires a shot, right between his eyes. 

Andrews touch revolts you. You want nothing more than to rip his throat out, but you’re slowly losing consciousness. Your vision is fading. You couldn’t fight even if you tried. 

Andrew barks orders as his henchman. Soon you’re hoisted gently into a van, Andrew never leaves your side. He whispers apologies in your ear, speaks words of love and claiming, desperate to fix this so you could be together forever. 

The more he talked, the clearer it became. He was mad. Insanity had wormed its way into his mind. 

You had a sick feeling you weren’t getting out of this one alive.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky Pov. 

He woke slowly to the sound of monitors beeping. The stiffness in his muscles was intensely painful. A dull ache burned beneath his clavicle and lower ribs. His head was foggy with the number of painkillers the nursing staff had pumped into him. The serum burned through the medication in record time, forcing the nurses to up the doses they gave him. 

It didn't stop him from remembering. 

Tears prick the corners of his eyes and roll silently down his cheeks. His baby. His sweet little girl. He failed to protect her. 

It was his one task as a father. Protect your child. 

He turns on his side, ignoring the painful pull of his stitches. He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. He shakes violently with the force of his sobs. Every tear a jarring memory. 

Flashback:

He knew instantly something was wrong. The park was too quiet. There were no families. No playing children. He curled his metal arm around Reyna protectively, trying to discern figures in the tree line. He could see nothing. All he could hear was the crackling of twigs underfoot as whoever was watching him shifted position. 

He chose not to fight. He chose to run. A firefight or knife fight could easily get Reyna killed. 

He turned his back on the tree line and held Reyna close to his chest. He walked slowly to the entrance of the park, his senses on high alert. He kept his cool, noticing how even Reyna stayed uncharacteristically quiet as they moved. He counted fifteen pairs of boots behind him. His adrenaline spikes. He shifts Reyna from his metal arm to his flesh arm, and rolls his shoulder, working out the kinks in the metal. He stops and readies himself. 

His attackers stop behind him. 

Bucky grimaces and gives his daughter a kiss on her forehead, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says gently. 

Her big blue eyes look sadly up at him, and not for the first time Bucky wonders whether children understand more than they let on. She always seems to understand exactly what he’s saying. 

“Hand over the lass if you please, Sergeant Barnes.” The thickly accented voice is vaguely familiar. 

Bucky tries to place it but draws a blank. Turning slowly to face the nameless man, he sneers, “I suggest you and your lackeys take a long walk over a short cliff, pal. You ain’t laying a filthy finger on my girl.” 

The man in front of him smiles. The sharp sting of a taser whites out his vision. When the pain stops Bucky roars in anger, but he’s remained on his feet. When Reyna whimpers and pats his cheek as if to ask if he’s okay, he clicks his next from side to side and kisses her hair. 

A deadly smile painted on his lips when he turns his gaze back to the group. “Alright you, bastards. Come and get me!” 

***********************

“We’re gonna get them back, pal,” Steve says softly from behind him. 

Bucky frowns. He hadn’t known Steve was back. Bruce must have recalled them from the mission they were on. His mind goes blank for a second before he dares ask the question, “Them?” 

“Reyna and (Y/N),” Steve says slowly. 

Bucky’s heart turns to ice. He sits bolt upright in his bed, his eyes wild with horror. “Whaddya mean?” 

Steve’s face pales, his eyes widening as he realizes his error. He swallowed once, twice, before he sighs in defeat. “(Y/N) was taken last night. She emailed me the list the of demands the kidnappers sent. They wanted her, and only her. If she handed herself over to them without a fight they would return Reyna within five hours.” 

“No,” Bucky states, ripping his IV line from his arm. He throws the covers off his body and gets shakily to his feet. He falters briefly before stalking out of his hospital room, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his haste. 

His mind repeats no over and over as he stalks the halls of the tower. He screams your name. His heartbreaking further with every passing second. 

No one stops him. They let him pass, their heads bowed in silent mourning. They understood. They had all lost someone in the line of duty. It came with the territory, unfortunately. Still, it didn't make it any easier to watch a fellow agent break as they realized someone close to them had been taken from them. 

Tony steps in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Natasha is standing beside him, her eyes dull and red-rimmed. Steve is behind Bucky with Bruce, having followed him through the tower. They all approach him without saying a word, laying hands on his shoulders, lending support, and comfort. They were all broken. 

All except Tony, who seemed more hopeful than grief-stricken. 

A few moments pass before Tony speaks, giving his friends time to process the events before he told them what he had found. For once the sass is missing. “She swallowed a tracker before she left the tower,” he says quietly. 

Four heads snap to stare at him in disbelief. 

“We can track her?” Steve asks, his words almost running together in his excitement. 

Tony nods, a wide smile on his face. “F.R.I.D.A.Y calibrated her exact position five minutes ago. I was on my way to tell you when I ran into Nat and Barnes.”

“We need a plan,” Nat interjects.

“If there ever was a time for a code green this is it,” Bruce supplies. 

“We need back up. I’m not risking anyone. We go with a full guard.” Steve agrees. 

“I’ll fire up the Iron Legion.” Tony adds.

“Boss, you have a call from a downtown fire chief. A child matching Reyna’s description was left at their door thirty minutes ago with a note pinned to her chest. They want identification,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs Tony. 

“Is she alive?” Tony asks sharply. 

“Not a scratch on her,” she replies. 

“Send me the exact location.” Tony turns his attention to Bucky, who had gone a sickly grey color. “Barnes,” he says while snapping his fingers in front of Bucky’s face. “Barnes!” he yells. 

Bucky startles and focuses on Tony. 

“You gotta keep it together, tin can. Your kid and your girl need you. You can’t afford to freak out. Bury it and sack up!” 

Bucky inhales shakily. He pushes down the fear and horror, squares his shoulders, and sets his jaw in a hard line. “I need guns,” he says slowly. 

A stray agent pipes up beside him. “How many, sir? I’ll prepare your tactical gear.”

Bucky stares at the woman contemplatively, then nods to himself. 

“All of them.”


	24. Chapter 24

“My sweet Amelia.” Andrew croons in your ear, his face just out of sight. 

You’re aware you’re on some sort of operating table, but where you are is a complete mystery. Vague figures clad in white cross your vision. You can’t make them out. You’re so tired. All you want is a little rest. Just for a moment. Your body feels heavy but completely weightless at the same time. It’s a strange sensation. A trickle of fear runs down your spine. 

“What’s her prognosis?” Andrew demands, stepping into your line of sight. 

“She has lost too much blood. She will not recover.” 

Andrew roars and upends a tray of surgical implements. The sound of gunshots ring in the air, followed by deathly silence. 

“That was the incorrect answer,” an unfamiliar voice monotones.”If someone does not offer a solution in the next five seconds I will shoot everyone.” 

A nervous doctor replies instantly. “The serum, Herr Mcclaine. The one the Asset was injected with. We have one vial left. It might save her.” 

Andrew contemplates for a second before he nods once. 

The room erupts with a flurry of activity. 

IV lines are inserted into your arms. You're vaguely aware of being moved and strapped into a large machine. Your head lolls to one side, and your eyes close as the machine roars to life.

Soon, all you can feel is pain such as you have never felt before. Your vision whites out and you descend into darkness, the sounds of your screams ringing in your ears. 

***********

You wake hours later and blink your eyes open. They attempt to adjust to the flickering fluorescent lights above you. There's a dull ache in your stomach, and you groan loudly, trying to move your arms to assess the damage, only to find you’re strapped to a gurney. Your arms and legs are bound tightly in metal clasps. 

Andrew pops into your line of sight. His worried face blinking owlishly at you. 

“Amelia, my love. Are you alright? How do you feel?” his words nearly bleed together. 

“That’s not my name,” you croak out. 

His face goes blank. “You must have hit your head harder than we thought,” he says, then smiles. 

“Where’s Reyna? Where’s Bucky?” you ask confused. 

Andrew slams a fist on the edge of the metal slab. “Do not say his name!” he yells. Madness dances in his eyes before he smoothes a hand over the front of his tie. “Your name is Amelia Ames. You are my fiance. We are to be married in six months,” he recites. 

“Andrew,” you answer in the most neutral tone you can muster, “my name is (Y/N) (L/N). I am an Avenger. An assassin. None of it was real.” 

“I do not believe you. It will be as it once was. We will go home. We will marry. We will have a family.” 

You swallow heavily. “No, Andrew, things will never be the same.” 

Andrew's eyes darken, and he nods to someone standing behind you. “Tell them to ready the chair and summon the telepath.” 

“Yes, Sir,” the lacky replies. 

You pale, adrenaline kicking in swiftly. You strain against your bindings and to your surprise the metal groans and snaps. You’re on your feet quicker than lightning, ignoring the protest of your stomach muscles. You strike out at the first person you see which happens to be Andrew. 

He sails across the room, overturning tables as he flies. 

Several men materialize out of the shadows. All are armed to the teeth. 

You square your shoulders and prepare to fight. A vicious snarl plasters itself across your face. 

You take out the first two to approach you with relative ease, their necks snapping in seconds. The third goes down with a kick to the throat. The fourth follows suit when you punch a fist through his gut. The fifth is smarter. 

He circles you. Those remaining following suit. He signals and before you know what's happening they all fire their tasers at the same time bringing you to your knees. 

Gritting your teeth against the electricity, you attempt to stay on your feet, but you’re stopped swiftly in your tracks by a well-placed crack to your skull. 

Once again your world goes dark, and your breath comes out in a long exhale. 

*****************

When you wake, it’s to a world of pain. Your head is strapped into place in a metal chair. Your arms and legs bound, again, in metal. There’s a cool breeze on your skin, and from what you can tell you’re naked except for a nude bra, and you assume matching panties. 

Your eyes dart around the room, seeking any form of escape. You come up empty. 

“Ah, you are awake,” a thickly accented voice says. A spindly bald man steps in front of you wearing a black butchers apron. It covers a crisp white button up shirt and khaki slacks. His face is pinched with a distinct look of rat about him. Long black gloves come up to his elbows. Half-moon spectacles sit balanced precariously over a hooked nose. The crows feet at the edge of his eyes are pronounced. His thin lips puckered. You doubt he’s smiled a day in his life. You place him in his late fifties. 

“Your Liebhaber has given me license to break you. Such a shame. Beauty is rare in this world.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, arching an eyebrow at his attempt to scare you. “Do you know who I am, Herr...?” 

“Perry, Steven Perry.” 

You grunt. “Herr Perry, do you know who I am?” 

Your torturer attempts a fatherly smile. “Why yes, Fräulein. I know exactly who you are. This will not help you,” he says. He draws a wicked looking knife from a black roll he’s laid open while he talked. 

Various devices, some sending a thrill of fear up your spine, glint menacingly in the low light. To your delight and his surprise, you begin to laugh. Your body shaking in your confines with the force of it. Tears are leaking from the corner of your eyes. The cathartic release leaves you breathless but smiling. 

You stop with a soft sigh and stare him dead in the eye. “I was trained in the Redroom, you rat-looking motherfucker. It’s going to take more than your little pig stickers to break me.”

He looks mildly confused before he smiles once again. “I will do my best, Fräulein to accommodate your uh... specific needs.”

“I'd like to see you try.”


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky POV. 

He holds Reyna tightly in his arms. The quinjet had been fired up and flown to the firehouse in record time. Still, Bucky had damn near kicked down the door unable to believe his little girl was safe and alive. He was armed to the teeth causing the firefighters on duty had given him a wide berth as he strode in, in full Winter Soldier gear. Sans mask, of course. 

The fire chief had exited his office quickly with Reyna sitting happily on his hip. She was tugging on the silver in her new friend's beard. 

Bucky’s heart had nearly stopped when he saw her safe and unharmed. 

She let go long enough to spot her father and with a happy “Da!” she had leaned out her rescuer's arms in his direction. Bucky closed the distance between them in three long strides, grabbed his daughter underneath her arms and damn near crushed her to his chest. The relief is so strong, he can’t even speak to the man who’d been caring for his baby. 

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comfort and support in the gesture before Natasha takes him by the belt and guides him backward. 

“Captain?” Steve begins.

“Wallace Boden,” the chief says in a low baritone, holding out his hand. 

Steve nods and grips it tightly. “We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. Reyna is the heart of the Avengers.” 

The captain shakes his head. “There’s no need to thank me. It was my duty, and she’s a pleasure. Sweet little thing,” he replies seriously. 

Steve quirks a smile. “Reyna is an excellent judge of character, Captain Boden. She knows a good man when she sees one. Thank you, for all you do to keep our city safe. If you ever need anything, we’re only a phone call away.” 

Captain Boden smiles widely. “I appreciate that, Captain Rogers.” 

“I wish we could stay, Captain, but we have a friend who needs our help.” 

Captain Boden’s brow furrows with worry. “Anything we could do to help?” 

Steve falters, glancing over his shoulder at his oldest friend, who seems to know exactly what he’s asking. 

There was no one to care for Reyna while they went to find (Y/N). There was no safe place to hide her. Bucky nods. Who better to leave his daughter with? 

Steve turns his attention back to the fire chief. “Up for babysitting a while longer?” 

Captain Boden winks at Reyna. “Anytime.” 

********************

“Coms in. We touch down in five!” Steve barks. 

Bucky places his com in his ear and does a final weapons check as they hover over the Hydra base in stealth mode. He hadn't spoken a word since the firehouse. The rage was simmering beneath the surface. His tenuous hold on the soldier was failing. He thought the rage would lessen when he saw Reyna’s face when he held her in his arms once again. 

If anything it had fueled the fire. 

Her mother had been taken from her. Had traded her life for her baby’s. He found you slotted into the place of Reyna’s mother quiet easily in his mind. 

They had taken the woman he loved from him. Stolen his chance before he fully had one. He’d never told you how he felt about you. Or how much you meant to him. To both of them. 

He was going to murder them all. He feels a sick sort of satisfaction at the thought. 

“Touch down,” Tony says as the quinjet comes to a halt. “She’s in a basement cell at the far end of the base. I've picked up three heat signatures in the room. Fifty assholes are patrolling,” he adds. 

Steve faces the team. “We’re doing pairs. Romanoff, Banner.” They nod in sync. “Sam and Clint. Wanda, you’re with Bucky. Tony, you’re with me.” 

Bucky is out of the jet quicker than lightning, Wanda hot on his heels. 

They work their way through the base, Wanda providing effective cover. Her skills had improved greatly since Johannesburg. And in this, she possessed a single-minded determination which made Bucky both proud and a little jealous. She was sweet and caring but would take you out without hesitation if she thought you were on the bad side of things. 

He admired her strength of mind and body and was exceptionally glad she was on their side. 

It takes them fifteen minutes and several bodies before they reach the basement cell. A see-through bulletproof glass wall separates him from you. The sight of you tears a wail from his throat. 

There was too much blood. 

Your head is lolling pathetically to one side. A deep gash decorated your skin, so deep he could see the bone. Your face was swollen, your eyes barely visible. Your hair was matted with blood. Sickly yellow bruised covered your arms and legs. There was a bone sticking out of your lower ribcage, and a thin, pale man was administering shock after shock to your broken body. 

Wanda snaps his neck from behind Bucky, through the glass and without ever touching him. The torturer crumples to the ground. 

A well dressed, handsome man steps from the shadows, looking around wildly for the source of death. 

Bucky locks eyes with the man he knows as Andrew Mcclain. 

Andrew smiles a mad thing which twists his features. “Barnes,” he says in a soft drawl. 

You whimper and try and lift your head up, but fail. “Bucky..” you moan. “Bucky, please... help me.” 

Bucky’s breathing increases. His mind flashes back to the mission from so long ago, and his heart shatters in his chest. 

“I don’t want to die. Bucky..” 

“Wanda,” Bucky murmurs. 

The glass implodes inwards. 

Bucky doesn't even flinch, but the breaking of the glass causes the tenuous hold his mind has over the soldier to snap. When he steps through the glass he’s no longer Bucky the Avenger. He’s not Steve’s friend Bucky. He’s not even the man who loved you with all his heart. He was Winter, and Winter showed no mercy. 

Stalking toward Andrew, the man backs up hurriedly, but he’s too quick for him. He grabs Andrew by the shoulder, pulling him forward, and grips him by the windpipe. “Nikto ne kasayetsya togo, chto moye.” No one touches what is mine. With his metal hand, he pulls Andrew’s throat out, dropping the body to the floor. 

Dead in seconds. It is much too quick. 

Bucky stands in the middle of the room, hand dripping blood.

“Barnes?” Wanda calls quietly. She approaches cautiously. 

He cocks his head to the side, lost in his head, seeming to stare at himself across a vast, frozen wasteland. The soldier salutes him, turns on his heel, and walks into the never-ending white, giving Bucky back control. 

Wanda’s soft voice finally registers, and he sighs, the tightness of his shoulders finally lessening. “We’re good. Unstrap her. Tell Bruce to ready... everything.” 

Wanda snaps the metal holding you in place, and Bucky is beside you in an instant. “It’s okay. I got you,” he whispers hoarsely as he lifts you gingerly into his arms. 

“I didn’t get to tell them...” you whisper through the delirium. 

“Ssh baby. Save your energy,” Bucky soothes. 

You whimper pathetically. The attempt to open your swollen eyes fails miserably. “I didn’t tell them... I loved them.” 

You go limp in his arms, and Bucky begins to run. You heave one shuddering breath, body shaking with the effort. Your limbs go stiff. Your throat jumping with an effort to suck in air, fingers twitching and legs spasming. 

Then, you go deathly still in his arms.


	26. Chapter 26

“There are more coming,” Wanda says quietly. Her eyes scanning the empty hallway. 

“Shit” Bucky mumbles. “How many?” he asks Wanda. 

 

She stills momentarily. Her eyes go vacant, then her head snaps to the side “Thirty. Maybe more.” Her gaze shifts to your lifeless form. Concern crinkles her smooth brow. “We need to get her out of here, брат. She has moments. She will not survive if we linger.” 

Bucky nods, quickly shifting through battle strategy in his head. The acidic taste of fear coats the inside of his mouth.

He could feel you dying in his arms. Like it was an inevitable outcome. Like it was part of some big plan which alluded him. Fate had rolled the dice. She was probably laughing her ass off at his dismal attempts to get you out alive. He growls in frustration. They would have to fight there way out. “Take point. Don’t engage with hand to hand. Only your abilities.” 

She nods, understanding there isn’t the time to play nice. “They are coming,” she replies before an army bursts through the door at the end of the hallway. 

One agent throws a grenade. 

Bucky watches it arc through the air as if it’s moving in slow motion. He turns and sinks to his knees, shielding you from the blast that never comes.

A dark red shield surrounds the three of you. Wanda grunts with the effort of shielding you and containing the blast. 

Bucky watches in awe as she moves the fiery ball at lightning speed toward the gathered forces. Some are smart enough to scatter. Others much too desensitized to fear to see the danger it possessed.

The deafening blast which follows leaves Bucky’s ears ringing. Blood and dismembered body parts fall in a hail around them. A deadly silence blankets them. Bucky rises to his feet, shifting you in his arms to a more a comfortable position. “We gotta move.”

“That might be a problem” Wanda replies as more soldiers file through the door. She squares her shoulder and summons her ability. Ready to strike them down. 

“Code green!” Natasha yells over the comms. 

A split second later The Hulk barrels through a wall, a tremendous roar announcing his presence. He stands ready. His giant green fists curled in anticipation. His broad shoulders heaving. 

“Wanda! shield.” Bucky commands. She complies instantaneously. “Hulk.” Bucky approaches cautiously. 

Hulk snarls viciously. He’s never liked Bucky. No one knew why. 

“I need you to take her,” Bucky says in the calmest voice he could manage. He was starting to panic, and you had begun turning blue. “I need you to save her.” The Hulks gaze flickers from Bucky’s eyes to your face. “I need Banner. She’s going to die. Please.”

“Hulk save angry girl,” he says thickly. Taking you from Bucky’s arms more gently than Bucky thought was possible, he cradles you in a thick, green arm before taking off through the Hulk shaped hole he’d left in the wall. 

The soldiers had been silent through the entire exchange. Their eyes wide with fear. Too scared to move from their spots. 

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. If anyone had the ability to save you it was Banner. Bucky nods at Wanda who drops her shield.

“Alright, you evil fuckers. Which one of you touched her?”

They shift nervously from one foot to another. Eyeing each other with fear. 

“No one?” Bucky asks nonchalantly. 

Wanda laughs from beside him. A laugh he had only heard when she would best Vision during sparring. It was a victorious laugh. “I am going to rip you limb from limb,” she says in a low tone. Her eyes flash with badly repressed rage. 

“Leave some for me, маленький.” Little one. 

“I would not deprive you of the pleasure, брат” Brother. 

Bucky smiles, pride and bloodlust mingling before he and Wanda run full tilt at the men who had hurt you.

He catches the first with a punch of his metal hand. A sickening crunch follows the impact and the man falls into a heap on the floor. Wanda lands a solid punch and kick combo to a second soldier who drops fairly quickly. They work in tandem with flying fists and crunching of bone. Heavy grunts fill the air as they work their way through the throng. 

Soon there are none left. All lay dead at their feet.

Bucky places a brotherly hand on Wanda’s shoulder and nods. She beams and places her own hand over his. “Let’s go,” he murmurs. 

They had no time to waste. Your life depended on it.

*************************

“This is bad, Tony,” Bruce says frantically. He’d hooked up an IV line and set as many of your bones as he could. Your heart was beating. Brain activity was erratic. You were all over the place and he had no idea what was causing it. It was like your mind was fighting itself, sending you into a deeper state of shock. 

“I’m a little busy here, Banner. Handle it.” Tony crackles over the comm. 

“I can’t! I need a lab. And the cradle. We need to leave now!” Bruce snaps.

“We can’t leave, Banner, we need to clear the base,” Steve butts in. 

“Well, Cap, you’re going to have to make a choice. Clear the base and let her die. Or let this one go and save her.” 

Steve hesitates and Bruce knows he’s weighing the consequences. One life for many. Bruce holds his breath, for a split second, he knows what Steve is going to answer. The greater good demanded it.

“Get back to the Quinjet. Retreat.” Bucky’s voice is hard when it comes through Bruce’s earpiece, demanding. He was issuing an order, one directed at Steve.

There's dead silence over the comms. The world holds its breath. Bruce doesn't dare say a thing. The tables have turned and he has no idea if the order would be obeyed or not. It was a reckless, dangerous decision. 

“Come on, Cap,” he whispers.

“Do it!” Steve barks over the line. 

Bruce breathes a sigh of relief, orders F.R.I.D.A.Y to apprise Fury of the situation, and to let Helen know to standby. There was going to be hell to pay when they got back to base. Chain of command had been directly defied to save one woman. There were going to be words.

Bruce checks the IV line and injects more morphine. A tingle of fear crawls up his spine. Your breathing was shallow. Your eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. 

Bucky enters the jet, followed closely by Wanda. “How is she?” he asks, sinking to his knees beside the stretcher. 

“We need to leave,” Bruce replies, his face grim. 

Bucky nods and places a kiss on your bloody forehead. He gets up and moves to the cockpit, determined to get you out of there as fast as he could. 

“We cannot leave them!” Wanda yells. 

Bucky turns to face her, his panic and fear written clearly on his face. “She’s dying!” he roars. 

Wanda opens her mouth to answer, but she’s cut off by the rest of the team jumping into the jets hanger.

“Let’s move!” Steve orders, throwing a venomous glare in Bucky’s direction. 

Tony scrambles into the cockpit and gets the engines started quickly.

“You defied orders.” Steve hisses at Bucky.

Bucky doesn't flinch, merely looks at Steve. “You started a war with a hundred and seventeen countries for one man, pal,” Bucky replies softly. “Did you think I would do any less for her?” He moves so close to Steve their noses are nearly touching. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Steve, but somehow, you think you have the monopoly on defying orders. Stuff the ego, pal. You made the wrong call.”

“That was different!” Steve snaps back.

“It was only different because it was you, Steve. There is no difference between (Y/N) and myself. And if you think I was going to let her die because you’re on a power trip, you got another thing coming.”

“Bucky...” Steve begins.

“I’m done, Rogers. My girl needs me.”


	27. Chapter 27

It felt as if years had passed since Bucky had wheeled you into the tower. In reality, it had been a few hours. He was caked with dried blood, his hair matted on his head. Tiny scrapes littered his skin, evidence of the combat he’d endured. 

Wanda stood in silence behind him. Her hands placed a few inches from his temples while delicate tendrils of red emitting from her fingertips as she delved deeper into Bucky’s subconscious. She was searching for the soldier. Her eyes were screwed shut and her brow furrowed as she concentrated. They needed to know if the fail safes she had placed in Bucky’s head still held.

It had only been a few weeks since he approached her. Fear that the increasing tension, and tumultuous situation would send him over the edge. The trigger words were wiped from his head, but the soldier remained lurking in the darkest recesses of his mind.

Wanda had managed to give Bucky complete control. She’d broken down the wall between himself and Winter, and now Bucky held the power in his hand. 

He could summon the emotionless, dead state of Winter at any moment and bring himself out of it with relative ease. But he hadn't gone looking for Winter on this last mission. The Soldier had come out without any say from Bucky, and given him back control when the job was done. 

Wanda assured him the triggers would do nothing to him if they were spoken, regardless of recent developments. He wouldn't dare say it out loud, but for this first time in years, he feared his own mind. He feared what he could to Reyna and those around him.

There was no pain with Wanda’s methods. It wasn’t anything like what Hydra had done to him. It was a gentle pressure; water lapping over stones. Gentle waves crashing against the rock face of his mind, washing away all which he hid from himself. He had every memory, recalled with perfect clarity. Every victim, every smile, was recorded for him to play on a loop.

His deeds put in perspective. Motives were made clear.

Wanda gasps behind him and staggers backward. She breathes in deep through her nose and exhales. Her hands on her knees as she bends nearly double, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her. She drops to one knee and places her palms flat on the floor. 

Bucky lurches to his feet and walks on shaky legs to her side. He sits down beside her and with jerky movements rubs soothing circles onto her back. “Wanda?” he murmurs. 

She sits on her haunches, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The failsafe holds. I don’t know how he surfaced. You must have called to him without meaning too, there is no other explanation,” she replies, her exhaustion evident from the heavy, dark circles beneath her eyes.

Bucky exhales with worry. “Thank you. Shower and rest. You’re dead on your feet.” 

She nods and places an affectionate kiss on his cheek, rises to her feet and walks from the room, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He was so tired and deathly afraid of losing you. He knew it was a very real possibility. Your last moment of consciousness played over in his head. 

It taunted him, far too similar to the mission which had sent him running from you years ago. Was he too late once again? Did he fail you? Would he ever see you smile or hold Reyna in your arms again? Would he ever get to tell you how much you meant to him? 

Melancholy settles sickly in his stomach becoming a hard ball in his gut. He lays backward on the carpeted floor, rubbing his eyes, and ignores the approaching footsteps. He knew exactly who they belonged to, but was in no mood for a conversation.

The footsteps halt abruptly in front of him. Bucky curses with alarming creativity in his mind, before sitting up. “Not now, Steve. I’m begging ya, pal. Could you leave it alone? We’ll hash it out later.” 

Steve shakes his head and sits down next to him. Bucky groans in frustration and Steve can’t help but let out a wry chuckle. “When she left, when we found out what happened between you? I don’t think I've ever been so angry with you.” 

Bucky casts his gaze to the wall in front of him, and refuses to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“I thought, there was no way you could do it. There was no way Bucky Barnes would hurt a dame that way.”

Bucky grunts and clenches his jaw so tight he feels it might break. “I was an idiot. A coward.” 

Steve nods. “We’ve been friends, what? Going on eighty years? You were never a coward. An idiot? No doubt.” Steve sighs when Bucky won't turn to look at him. “Bucky, you defied a direct order from your Captain. Called me out on my decision. You risked your life to walk into a Hydra base to find her, and were willing to leave us there to save her.” 

Bucky swallows thickly, shame rising in his gut at his actions. He had almost sacrificed the lives of his team for one woman. He was going straight to hell.

“None of us blame you, pal. At one point or another, we’ve all been in the same position. Hell, I fought near the entire world to get you back. Wanda and Pietro came close to destroying the world. Bruce is well… Bruce. Thor and Loki? Tony built Ultron, and the whole arc reactor shebang?” Steve laughs again. The world had gone to the dogs so many times since The Avengers had been formed. Before that was no picnic either. “My point is, you were willing to risk everything for her safety. It doesn't make you a bad guy. Stupid, but not a bad guy. We’re all a little stupid.”

“I couldn’t watch,” Bucky mumbles. “I couldn’t watch as she died again.” 

Steve places a comforting arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You won't have to, Buck. Bruce and Helen will fix her up in no time. She’ll get through this. She’s tough as nails. But you have to tell her, Bucky. She deserves to know how much you love her. She can make her own decisions, and you’ll accept whatever she does decide. But, you have to tell her.” 

Bucky sighs as fat tears leak from the corner of his eyes. “I know,” he replies.

They sit together for hours, dirty and blood-soaked, waiting for news. The time weighs heavily on them both. 

It's three in the morning when Bruce enters the living room, still in his scrubs, his glasses doing nothing to hide the bags under his eyes. 

Bucky shoots to his feet. His eyes frantic. 

 

“She’s fine. We stopped the bleeding. Helen has her in the cradle, although I don't think it was necessary.” 

Steve frowns and Bucky’s heart lurches in his chest. “Why? What do you mean?” Bucky demands. 

Bruce takes a moment before he answers. His hesitation does nothing to curb Bucky’s anxiety. “She’s been injected with the serum Bucky. She’s a super soldier.”

Bucky stares vacantly at Bruce. Wondering how bad it would be if he went back to the base and burned it all to the ground. He contemplates the merits of ripping their spines from their bodies. Listening to their screams. It seemed a viable option. He wanted to kill them all for daring to touch you. To taint you with their curse. The urge to avenge you was blinding. The rage chokes him. It breaks his heart. You would live forever. Never changing, like a vampire. Doomed to watch those you loved die around you.

“Can I see her?” he asks gruffly. 

Bruce shakes his head. “Not until she’s out of the cradle. I’ll call you when you can. I suggest a shower and some sleep. You both look like hell.”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Bucky replies. 

Bruce nods leaving the two men alone.

“I want to kill them, Steve. I want to kill every last one of them.” 

Steve claps Bucky on the shoulder. “I know, Bucky. We will. But first, you gotta take care of her. She’s going to need you to help her.”

“I know. But they will pay for what they’ve done.” Bucky looks toward the door Bruce had come through, unaware of the cold light of rage which burned in his eyes or how it made Steve shiver to see it.


	28. Chapter 28

Dream Sequence: 

It seemed like only yesterday. A momentary goodbye. He looked dapper in his military uniform, beaming proudly as he stood in the middle of the airport. His camo printed uniform lent an air of importance to him. His hair was sheared short, bringing his vibrant blue eyes into focus. He was being deployed for a tour in Afghanistan. Sergeant James Barnes, member of Seal Team Six.

It was the last time you saw him alive. When he came home, he did so in a coffin. Sharply dressed officers had offered you their condolences, but there were no words to take away the pain you felt. No amount of calling him a hero or settlements could erase his memory from your mind.

You laid him to rest in a small cemetery on the outskirts of town. There was an abundance of fresh flowers placed on his grave. He had been well loved in life. 

A stray RPG had snuffed out his light and destroyed your future. A chance at family and laughter was gone. Your heart lay six feet under, entombed with the man whom you called husband.

You met Andrew three years later. The grief of Bucky’s passing was less fresh but ever present. A dull ache which throbbed in your chest. It was easy to ignore most days. Some nights you felt like it would drown you, his absence a gaping hole in your life. Never filled. Not even by the one you chose to marry.

You loved Andrew, but it was a soft love. Not the kind you shared with Bucky, but, it was strong. He was the anchor which kept you tethered to the world. He held a place in your heart, and you were content with your life. It wasn't the one you envisioned for yourself, yet, it was still a good one.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs softly into your hair. 

You stood quietly at the foot of Bucky’s grave, tears leaking freely from your eyes. A bunch of daisies was clutched tightly in your right fist. It was a tradition of sorts, to visit his grave every year on the anniversary of his death. Andrew had taken to coming with you over the last few years. “I still miss him.”

Andrew’s grip tightens around your waist, and he nuzzles into your hair. “I’m here, my love. Nothing will take me away from you.” 

Silent sobs wrack your body, the grief overwhelming in its power. You kneel down and place the flowers on his grave, smoothing away leaves from the soft grass. Andrew stands in silent vigil behind you. “I loved you then, I loved you yesterday, I love you still,” you whisper, knowing you always would.

*********

You wake with a gasp to white walls and a fresh vase of daisies on the table beside you. Every sense you had was overwhelmed with pain. Bruises littered your skin, a sickly yellow color. There were stitches on your left arm where what looked like a long gash traveled the length of your wrist to your shoulder.

You had no idea how you got it. The last thing you remembered you were in the cemetery kneeling on your love's grave. 

Were you attacked? Where was Andrew? 

Panic, hot and acidic replaces the pain. Your gaze scans the room, coming to rest at a figure slumped in a chair, peacefully asleep.

No.

His hair was longer. His face smoother than you remembered it being. His arm was metal. A shiny chrome which caught the light. 

He was also dead. 

You remembered him dead. There was no way he was here with you. No way he could be alive. You’d seen the body. You’d buried your heart with him.

“Bucky?” 

He startles awake, blinking the sleep from his eyes. His blurry vision settles on you. His eyes widen before he’s out of the chair and by your side. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” he asks quickly, his words stringing together in his haste to get them out. He raises a hand to smooth the hair from your face. 

You flinch away from the touch, crying out, “You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead!” 

Bucky’s face morphs into confusion. “I’m right here, doll. I’m not hurt.”

“No! No, I saw the body! You were dead! I buried you! I visit your grave!” you shriek, scrambling backward on the bed, firmly ignoring the pain the action brings. 

He was a ghost. He had to be. Your heart couldn’t take it. He was dead. He was dead!

“(Y/N), doll face, I'm right here,” he replies calmly.

“Andrew!” you scream. “Andrew! Where is he? What did you do with him!” you demand. 

You’re hysterical, screaming and crying. Bucky tries to calm you but fails miserably. Instead, he pushes the button next to your bed, summoning the nurses to your room. 

“We need to calm her or she’s going to tear her stitches. Someone call Wanda. We need her here now,” he says to green-clad nurse. 

She scurries from the room, already barking orders at her colleagues. 

Bucky holds you down by the arms, hating himself for forcing you into compliance. 

You scream for Andrew. Beg him to let you go. Bargain all your possessions if he would just let you go.

A nurse sticks a large needle into your IV and your vision goes fuzzy at the edges. A gentle calm settles over you. Soft whimpers pass your lips. Your arms go slack in Bucky’s hold. 

He murmurs soothingly above you, a distinct note of sadness in his voice. His eyes are moist as he watches you succumb to a drug-induced sleep. He never lets you go, leaving tender touches and whispering quiet words of love to lull you into sleep. 

You stop fighting your body. Closing your eyes, you let go of the fear.

Your last word before you descend into darkness, the last word you speak before you remember nothing more, breaks Bucky further than he ever thought he could break.

Andrew.


	29. Chapter 29

“Брат?” Wanda questions as she runs full tilt into the infirmary. Everything was calm. Too calm. Everything except Bucky’s face, which held a depth of emotion she had never seen before. It sent a shiver of fear up her spine. 

Bucky was breaking. His eyes were dead. His mouth turned down at the corner. His skin held a sickly pallor.

“Bucky, tell me what’s happened?” she asks gently, stepping cautiously toward him. She takes his flesh hand in hers, squeezing tightly, lending what comfort she can. 

“She thought I was dead. She kept screaming for Andrew. I think they fucked with her mind,” he says softly. 

Wanda’s blood runs cold. Her gaze snaps to your sleeping form. She fights the urge to turn on her heel and march straight back to the Hydra base and hurt every last one of them. Instead, she walks to your bed, determined to undo the damage they had wrought on you. She places her hands on the sides of your temples, extending her powers into your mind. Red tendrils creep from her fingertips. She has to swallow the bile rising in her throat at the torture your memory holds.

Bucky watches silently. Hope and despair one hot emotion in his gut. If anyone could undo the damage she could. If anyone could bring you back, it was Wanda. He holds his breath as he watches. 

Wanda’s face contorts in pain and rage, sadness and joy as she filters through your memories. It was both awe-inspiring and frightening to watch. Once again, he was glad she was on their side.

Natasha and Steve come skidding around the corner. Breathless and panting, Natasha blanches at the scene in front of her and rushes toward you. 

Bucky intercepts her and holds her back by her arm. “Let her,” he says harshly. 

She steps back, on edge and looking for a fight. Natasha had as much right as Bucky to fear and hate anyone who had the ability to get into someone's head. 

Bucky immediately regrets his unforgiving tone.

“What’s happening?” Steve asks quietly. 

“She’s been brainwashed,” Bucky replies. 

Natasha growls beside him and Steve sighs heavily. 

“Who has Reyna?” Bucky asks. He had left her with Steve who was ridiculously good with children for someone who still was one. 

“She’s with Sam and Viz,” Steve says and Bucky nods. 

Reyna seemed no worse for wear after her ordeal. She had been subdued for a few hours, and then returned to her usual bubbly self. Children were amazingly resilient. He envied their ability to bounce back from the worst situations as if nothing had happened.

Wanda snaps back, stepping away from your sleeping form. She sways on the spot, and Steve is beside her in an instant, steadying her. She leans heavily on his shoulder. “I think I reversed it,” she says weakly. “I won't be sure until she wakes up.” 

Steve lifts her into her arms, and she lays her head on his chest. “You’ve done enough for today, Kid. Time for some rest. Call when (Y/N) wakes up,” he directs the last sentence at Bucky who grunts in acknowledgment.

He turns to Natasha as Steve and Wanda leave the room. “I’m going to spend some time with Reyna,” he says monotonously. 

Natasha grimaces and nods, but walks over to take a seat in the chair beside your bed.

Bucky stalks the corridors of the tower. His emotions threaten to get the best of him. He nods in greeting to Sam who, for once, doesn’t greet Bucky with a sassy remark. He hands Reyna too him, and Bucky all but crushes her to his chest before he strides purposefully from the room. 

She doesn’t make a sound, just she stares quietly at her father. Her unicorn stuffie, freshly laundered, clutched tightly in her small hand. 

Bucky ignores the calls of his fellow agents, needing to get as far away from people as he possibly could. He shuts the bedroom door behind him and leans heavily on the steel door. Ragged breaths burst from his lips.

He failed to protect you. Again. He failed to keep you safe. Body and soul. He had made a solemn oath to both himself and Reyna that he would never again hurt you or let you be hurt. He failed in a most spectacular fashion. He was a failure. 

How would he explain this to her? How would he tell his daughter that the woman she called mother had been taken and tortured on his watch? How did he explain that he was the reason you couldn’t trust. It was his fault you were guarded and skittish. His fault your body was broken. How would he atone? Could he ever atone for what had been done to you? 

Bucky sinks slowly to the floor with Reyna in his arms. His legs splayed stiffly in front of him. The sobs come quickly, shaking his large frame with the force. 

Reyna makes a sound of discontent. Her distress at her father's sadness fuels the flames of his guilt.

He begins to rock her backward and forward, making soft shushing noises through the haze of tears. “I’m sorry,” he cries, over and over. 

Bucky breaks on the floor of his bedroom with his daughter clutched tightly in his arms. Visions of the woman he had spurned and betrayed flash in his mind. 

He needed to fix it. He had to fix it. There was no other choice for him. He owed it to you and Reyna, regardless of what it would cost him. 

“Daddy’s sorry, baby,” he whispers. “I failed ya both.”

Reyna’s giant blue eyes focus on his. “Da,” she says clumsily, her pudgy hands on his wet cheeks. The Unicorn stuffie was forgotten, tossed to the floor in favor of patting his damp face. 

He places a kiss on her forehead. Sniffles once. Determination replaces the grief he felt in his heart. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, baby. Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”


	30. Chapter 30

You woke slowly to the most horrendous pounding. Your skull was practically vibrating with the force. 

Sweet Jesus, you think groggily, What the hell did I drink? 

You dare crack open an eye. The overhead lights sting with the brightness. Your muscles ached. Your whole body was a tightly wound string ready to snap. You were vaguely aware something had happened, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what it was. It must have been one hell of a night judging by the skull splitting hangover.

“Holy shit,” you croak, shutting your eyes tightly against the glare. You fumble blindly for the Advil you stashed in your bedside table only to come up empty. A lamp crashes to the floor and, judging by the sound, a full glass of water shortly after. 

Evidently, this wasn’t your room. You were relatively certain you hadn’t gotten up for a glass of water. On the other hand, how the hell would you know? You could barely remember what day it was. 

Confused, you smooth your hands over the bedspread. It definitely wasn’t your comforter. You had a proclivity for Egyptian cotton. This wasn’t nearly as fine as your own bedding. Did you go out? Your heart sinks. Did you pick someone up and do something stupid?

“Oh God, (Y/N). What did you do?” you groan aloud and stretch your hand to the other side of the bed, dreading the feeling of a warm body beside you. To your surprise you come up empty and in a single bed. The only thing you feel is the cold bars of the steel railing. Where they there to keep you from falling off? You weren't sure.

“You decided to hand yourself over to a nutjob in the middle of the night,” Natasha replies sarcastically, causing you to finally take notice of her sitting beside the bed. “What do you remember? Do you know who I am?” she asks more gently, a hint of worry lacing her tone. 

“Nat, what the hell are you talking about? Of course I know who you are. What’s going on?”

“What the hell were you thinking going in alone!” Natasha scolds. She’s shaking with barely suppressed rage. 

You had never seen her this angry. “Nat, calm down. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply snappily. The headache was nearly unbearable and her yelling wasn’t helping when your muscles tightened with every throb. “Did we go out? How bad was it? Did I dance? In front of people?” you add, panicked.

She sighs heavily and pushes the morphine button next to your bed causing you to breathe a sigh of relief. “You don't remember? Anything?”

“Remember what, Natasha?” You open your eyes and scan the room. Your brow creases in confusion. “Why am I in the infirmary, Natalia?” you ask, slightly panicked. You sit upright, ignoring the slowly receding headache. 

She nibbles on her lower lip before she drags her chair closer. She sits down, leaning toward you, her hands clasped in her lap. Her knuckles turn white with the pressure. “Andrew took Reyna. You offered yourself in exchange. Bucky found you strapped to a chair in a Hydra base.” 

Your blood turns to ice. Fear, hot and sticky rises in your gut. “Reyna! Where is she?” you cry, lurching from your bed and almost falling from the bed even with the rails. Your muscles were stiff from being inactive. 

“She’s fine. She’s in the tower with Bucky,” Nat replies calmly. 

You sit back heavily, relief washing through you. “I remember. There were people. Agents. They... tortured me. There was a woman. A telepath? Andrew, he wanted to go back. To be together again. He wanted me to be Amelia,” you say quietly. Memories flashed in your mind. Intense pain. The feeling of death lingering heavy in your bones. Was there a chamber? Or a machine? It was so hard to distinguish what was real.“Natasha... what aren't you telling me?” 

You hear her swallow behind you. You can smell the sweat beading on her brow. Her heartbeat pattering like a hummingbird's in her chest. “They gave you the serum, (Y/N). You’re a full super soldier now. I’m so sorry, Sestra.” 

You shut your eyes tightly. The memories flooding back now with every word from her lips, painful in their intensity. You remembered every needle prick. Every stab of Perry’s knives. Every shock they administered. You remembered what kept you sane. You were also acutely aware of how Bucky would have reacted to finding you in such a dangerous situation.

“Where’s Bucky? I need to speak to him,” you say, turning your head slightly in her direction. 

She removes her phone from her jean pocket and dials his number. You can hear it ring endlessly. 

“Try Steve,” you say calmly. 

She nods and tries Steve, who answers on the third ring. “She’s awake. She’s asking for Bucky,” Natasha says into the receiver. 

Your heart sinks. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, location of Sergeant Barnes, please.” Your voice betrays the fear which was currently climbing up your spine. 

“He can't find, Barnes,” Natasha mouths. 

“Sergeant Barnes is not in the building, miss.” The A.I replies calmly. 

“Track the Quinjet, please,” you ask and the A.I goes silent. 

Natasha still has the phone to her ear. Steve is barking orders on the other end of the line. Natasha places her hand over the mouthpiece. “What do you know (Y/N)?.”

“He’s not the type to let things go, is he?” you reply.

Natasha curses and rises from her chair. “Mobilize tack team six. Barnes has gone rogue.” She snaps at Steve. The latter swears heavily. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y quietly interjects, “The Quinjet’s communication is offline, miss. I have managed to track a signal heading out of Ireland. It’s on it’s way back.”

Oh, Bucky. What have you done?

“When last did anyone see him?” you demand. 

Natasha relays the message to Steve, who answers instantly. “It’s been two days. Reyna’s been staying with Steve and Sharon. Steve says Bucky asked for time to figure things out.” 

You resist the urge to scream. Steve really needed to stop being so trusting. Bucky would never leave Reyna. She was imperative to his mental wellbeing. His child was everything. He hated being away from her And wouldn’t have left her again. Not after recent events. 

“He’s gone back to the base. Have team six stand down. Bucky’s fine.” you reply monotonously.

“What? How do you know?”

“Because Bucky wouldn’t leave Reyna with Steve, or anyone for that matter, for two days after she had been kidnapped,” you reply. 

Nat sighs in frustration. Her foot tapping restlessly on the linoleum floor. “I don’t understand!”

You lay slowly down on your side, bringing the comfort to your chin. You stare aimlessly at the wall wondering if he would be the same when he came back.

“Bucky wouldn’t leave Reyna, but the Soldier would.” You knew, deep down you knew, the Soldier would kill everyone he found still alive. There would be no mercy and no humanity. The Soldier would destroy all that was in his path. 

Somehow, you didn't mind. Bucky had managed to do what you wished you could. He’d ended the threat, protected his child, and done what he promised he would. A promise which was unsolicited. 

Bucky had risked everything to protect you, placing his sanity and life on the line, and things would never be the same again.


	31. Chapter 31

You were staring at the wall, trying to sort out the various memories which ran at lightning speed through your brain. It was a hot scramble. Reality and fantasy mingled into an indistinguishable tangle. You knew Bucky wasn’t dead and buried. He was very much alive. You knew Andrew had done horrible, terrible things to you. But, somehow, your brain refused to accept the facts.

Was the love you felt for either of them real? Or was it a fabrication the telepath had planted to make the transition from one man to another smoother? 

You hardly knew what to think. You turn on your back, slamming your fist into the bed in frustration. The bed gives a low moan before the metal bars snap, and you go crashing to the floor in a hail of bedsheets and limbs. You lay panting in a mess of blankets, your IV had been ripped from your arm in the fall. The heart rate monitor was screeching with warning, bringing a harried-looking Bruce huffing into your room.

He stops short in front of your now destroyed bed. His eyebrows raised and his fingers twitching against the clipboard in his hand. “Trouble?” 

You prop yourself onto your elbows and blow a stray piece of hair from your eyes. “I broke the bed,” you reply seriously. 

He gives a strained smile. “I can see that. How?” he asks. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and folds his arms across his chest. 

You sigh, casting your gaze to your lap. “I got a little frustrated,” you mumble, embarrassed your emotions had gotten the best of you. “I might have punched it.”

He stares at you for a long moment before walking to the wall where a small intercom sat. He presses a button and speaks clearly into the device. “I’m taking Agent (L/N) to her bedroom. All necessary equipment is to be present before we arrive,” he commands. 

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” a masculine voice replies. 

Bruce moves away from the wall and offers you a hand. 

You grasp it firmly and pull yourself up. “Thank you, Bruce. I was feeling a little claustrophobic in here.”

“We’re going to have to find you clothes,” he says, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. 

It’s then you feel the distinct breeze tickling flesh. To your horror, you realize you’re wearing one of those atrocious hospital gowns with the gaping back, and your butt was fully on display. You swallow down the mortification. “May I please borrow your coat, Bruce?” he nods and shrugs it off, draping it over your shoulder. You pull it tightly around yourself and take his offered hand.

He leads you through the tower, keeping a firm grip on you as he walks. The silence stretches comfortably around you both, and soon you find yourself being ushered through your bedroom door. He helps you sit on your bed, taking the lab coat from your shoulders in the process. 

You were loathe to stay in the hospital gown any longer. It scratched your skin, conjuring images of torture and needles. “I need to change. I need clothes.” 

Bruce walks to your dresser and pulls out panties, a pajama top and a pair of short sleeping pants. He places them in front of you and turns his back. 

A wave of affection for the doctor settles in your heart for the sweet man. A small smile plays on your lips.

You shuffle awkwardly into the garments, your muscles still stiff and aching from your ordeal, and sit down heavily on your bed. Your breathing is labored from moving around so much. “I’m done,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Bruce turns and helps you into bed, hovering like a mother hen when he’s done. 

“Sit down, Bruce, please? I think I’m in need of some sane conversation.” 

He places himself on the other side of your bed, stretching himself out languidly. He crosses his legs at the ankles and rests his head on his opened palms behind his head.

“Heard anything from Bucky?” you ask quietly. 

Bruce stiffens slightly before relaxing. “I think we should be talking about you,” he replies. 

“Bruce...” you warn. 

“No. (Y/N), we found you in a basement strapped to a chair, delirious and begging, with bones sticking out of you. I thought you were going to die. Then, Wanda announces you’ve been brainwashed. Start talking. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.” 

You throw your arm over your eyes, sighing heavily at his statement. “I don’t know what’s real. I have two sets of memories. Two lives I lived. Heartbreaks and laughter. How do I know what’s the truth and what was planted in my head?” You roll onto your side, giving Bruce a once over, deciding he was worthy of your trust.

“I love him,” you say softly. “I know I probably shouldn't. Not after all that’s happened. Ivanna? The lies? I wanted to hate him for so long. I was willing to hate him. But, I don’t know. It’s always been there. Living underneath the surface of my skin.” Bruce stays silent, letting you speak. “I feel it when I see him with Reyna, or when he smiles. He’s changed so much. I’m afraid I love him more now than I did then. It’s tearing me to pieces. I know I should be moving on from him. He made his choice, but... I can't.” You groan out loud, the frustration boiling over.

“When they were cutting me, hurting me, it wasn’t myself I was thinking of. I held onto Bucky and Reyna. I imagined what they would go through if I wasn't around anymore, and then the telepath came and screwed with everything inside my head. And you know what’s worse? Even in the delusion she gave me, I still loved him. I mourned him. I craved him, and I want it to stop. I don’t want to be in love with him, Bruce. He’s a good man. He deserves love, but, it shouldn’t be mine. This shouldn’t be happening. These feeling should have died when he chose Ivanna. I don’t want them anymore.” 

Bruce removes his hand from behind his head and grabs hold of yours. “I think you need to tell Bucky. How are you ever going to move on if you don’t talk to him? You’ve been living in the past so long. Holding onto the hurt he caused so hard, you haven’t allowed yourself to grieve for him. To fully come to terms with what happened, and, to be honest, I don't think you want too, because that would mean it was truly over,” he replies. “You need to make a choice. Are you willing and able to forgive him? To start fresh, to let the love the two of you so obviously share grow into something stronger? Or, are you going to move on. Forget about him. Live your life without the shackles you’ve given yourself.” 

 

You squeeze his hand, thankful he hadn’t beaten around the bush. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y cuts off your answer. “Sergeant Barnes has entered the building. He is unarmed and unharmed.”

You glance at Bruce who's sporting a grimace. There was going to be hell to pay. He rises from the bed, and straightens out his lab coat. “Stay here.” 

“Dr. Banner, Sergeant Barnes is currently in the infirmary. He is demanding to see Agent (L/N),” a male voice calls over the intercom.

“Tell him where we are, please,” Bruce replies. 

The room descends into silence as the minute's tick by. It seems like forever, an eternity before the door of your bedroom is roughly kicked in.

He’s framed by the door, dripping blood, only the blue of his eyes is visible. Bucky had worn the mask for this mission, and your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

A whisper slips from your lips, one of longing and pain. “Bucky.”


	32. Chapter 32

His eyes held a vacant, emptiness to them, like bottomless pits. There was no life in them, no fire. They held only the unfathomable depths of the ocean, an endless blue, which held no hope, only the surety of drowning. There was no sound, but for the drip of bright red blood on the carpet, sounding overly loud in the stillness. 

Bruce stood frozen at the edge of your bed. Bucky’s gaze was fixed squarely on yours. You had no idea who was standing in front of you. Was it Bucky? Or Winter? You hoped for the former. Bucky could be reasoned with. Winter was another story entirely.

“Bucky?” you ask calmly. 

He seems to snap out of it, and rips the mask from his face, throwing it casually to the side. “Does she remember?” he directs at Bruce, who nods in assent. “Leave,” Bucky commands. 

Bruce hesitates, looking to you for direction. 

You swing your legs from the bed and rise shakily to your feet. “It’s fine, Bruce. I’ll be okay.” 

Bruce clenches a fist and inhales deeply, before exiting the room.

He hasn't shut the door before Bucky is in front of you. His hands tangled in your hair.”You remember?” he says quietly, a bright smile gracing his features. The blood which coated his hands stains your shirt. 

“I remember, most of it at least,” you reply equally quietly. 

He releases a quick breath, his shoulders relaxing, free ofthe tension they held. “моя любовь.” 

My love. Your heart constricts painfully. A mix of elation and trepidation settles in your stomach. 

His hands cup your cheek loving, reverently, and he rests his forehead on yours. “мое сердце.” My heart. He whispers, his thumb sweeping over your cheek. 

You rest your hands on his forearms, squeezing gently, trying to assure him you were indeed whole an unharmed.

His breath is fanning gently over your face. His eyes are tightly closed . The frown lines which were ever present had smoothed. All tension was gone from his body. Before you realize what’s happening he’s kissing you softly, worshiping your lips. His hands once again travel to your hair, and he pulls at the ends, tipping your head upwards. He deepens the kiss and your heart soars. 

You’re clinging to his arms, raised on your tiptoes to meet him. 

He pulls you closer, his hands traveling from your hair to your waist, dislodging your grip on him in the process. He pulls you in at the waist, caging you in his arms. He moans deeply in his throat and a hot spike of desire races through you. Hot and heavy, an inescapable force which leaves you breathless and wanting.

Kissing Bucky wasn't at all how you remembered it.

You remembered it being loving, yes, but there was always an undercurrent of restraint with Bucky. He could never fully let himself go for fear of harming you, or because he didn't completely trust himself with you, you weren’t sure. But this, this was something else. It was all raw emotion. It was truth. There was no restraint. No fear. It was what jolted you back into reality. 

You break away from his lips and inhale shakily. “Stop please,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. 

He stops immediately and lets you go, taking a large step backward. Confusion coates his features while you try and tame your galloping heartbeat.

“I... uh... I’m sorry, Bucky, but I can’t do this.” 

He pales and blinks, and then runs a bloody hand through his hair. He chews the inside of his cheek. He nods to himself and stares directly into your eyes. A fierce determination shines brightly in them. “I love you,” he says simply. “And I want to be with you. I want to be a family.” 

You stare at him in utter disbelief. You couldn't deny that a part of you was elated, singing in absolute joy at his confession. But, it was too fast. Too soon. You weren’t ready, not for this.

“Bucky, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, I know what you gave up for me. The sacrifice you made was huge, and I’ll be the first to admit that I still love you. Deeply. But, I can't do this.”

“Why?” he asks. “Why can’t you? The last few months...”

“Have been wonderful, and I cherish every moment I spend with you and Reyna, but it doesn't erase the past.” 

He sighs heavily. “I made a mistake. A terrible, cowardly mistake, and I regret it every single day. I’m asking you, please, give me a chance.” He falls to his knees in front of you and wraps his arm around your waist. He lays his head against your stomach, his hands resting on the small of your back. “Please, doll. I was so afraid. So afraid of watching you die again. So afraid of losing you. I love you,” he babbles. “Ivanna was a mistake. I was stupid and broken and I’m so sorry.”

Your heart runs cold at the mention of her name and you rip yourself from his grasp. “A mistake?” you echo. “No, she was a choice. You made a choice to betray me. You made a choice, Bucky. One which tore out my heart. It broke me in ways the red room never could, and you expect me to fall right back into your arms after a few months of playing house?” 

He hangs his head in shame when you tear yourself out of his grasp. 

“I left because of you! I gave up my family because of you! I became this... this unrecognizable thing because of you! None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you!” 

Bucky’s mouth hangs open as you rage, pacing the length of the room, your hands gesturing wildly as you scream.

“Every single moment I have hated myself. I have blamed myself. I have denied myself, because the man I wanted to marry chose a fucking cheap manipulative whore over me! I can't forgive you! I won't!’

“(y/n)...” he murmurs.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!” you scream wildly. 

Bucky grimaces and rises to his feet. He exits the room silently while you pant, gasping for air. It burns as it enters your lungs. Burns over the rawness in your throat. Burns over the rasp your rage has taken to your vocal cords.

It takes a few minutes for the horror of your words to sink in. When they do, you have a heart stopping moment of clarity. 

“Oh... Oh my god. What have I done?”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. 18+

You clamp your hand over your mouth in horror. The harsh words you spat at Bucky play on a loop in your head. You had no idea where they came from. No idea why you snapped. You did, however, know you fucked up. 

He in no way deserved the blame for the events of the last few months. The only one to blame was Andrew.

A horrified sob escapes your lips. Your eyes fill with tears as you lurch forward on wobbly legs and rip the bedroom door open. It splits and cracks, falling with a loud bang to the floor. Your eyes scan the hallway. The door is completely forgotten as your gaze lands on Bucky.

He was slumped heavily against a wall. His knees drawn to his chest. His arms were folded around his legs, his head lay on his knees. You were sure he was crying. His body was shaking slightly, but not a sound was made. He endured his pain in complete silence. When you approach him slowly, he stills and raises his head, his super soldier hearing announcing your presence. As if the broken door wouldn't.

His eyes were red-rimmed. His expression deeply broken. It held a depth of despair you had only seen once. He’d worn the same one the day he came home from the mission that would tear you apart. It seemed like only yesterday, the déjà vu was so strong. 

Still clad in his tactical gear, it was bloody and frayed, and torn in places. Long, deep gashes littered his skin, and you knew he had been through the ringer. 

Without hesitation, you do the only thing you can think of and offer him your hand. 

He hesitates, contemplating the offered appendage for a long moment before he takes it. 

You pull him to his feet and lead him to your bedroom. He barely spares the door a glance as you lead him through the doorway and into the bathroom. You pick up the broken door with one hand, and attempt to place it back on it hinge. It balances precariously on its edge, giving it up as a bad job you lead Bucky to the shower by the hand. Without missing a beat you stride past him and turn on the water as hot as you could stand and turn your attention to the broken man in front of you.

He’s understandably confused. His gaze follows your every move, and for a moment you’re unsure. 

Deciding to take the risk anyway, you sink to your knees in front of him. He swallows thickly and a small smile plays on your lips. You make quick work of his shoelaces and slip the heavy combat boots off his feet. His socks follow suit. You sit back on your haunches and look up at him, waiting for consent. He nods slightly and you rise to your feet.

His combat vest hits the floor soon after. You skim your fingers down his spine soothingly, admiring the way his muscles flex and dance beneath your touch. 

Tiny goosebumps erupt across his skin. 

Your fingers move to the puckered skin on his shoulder where flesh meets metal. You run your palm down the material while moving to face him. 

Fat tears still spill from his eyes, and you know your words wounded him deeply. 

You would forever regret it. It wasn't something you could take back or erase. They would live inside his head and yours forever.

You trace a path down his torso, stopping at the top of his trousers. You pop the button open slowly and undo his zipper. His breath hitches slightly as you hook your fingers into his underwear. You drag the rest of his clothes down his thighs, sinking slowly to your knees as you go. 

He’s hardening rapidly, the memories of the past replaying for him in this moment too. He steps out of his clothes and waits. 

You incline your head toward the shower. 

He nods and steps inside, letting the water soothe him. One hand goes to the shower wall, his metal hand reaches between his legs. He strokes himself slowly. Languidly. It’s a sight you had witnessed many times after a mission. 

This had been your ritual. You would strip him and usher him into the shower. You would bathe him slowly as he made himself moan. It would be the only sound in the room, until his control snapped and he made you moan with him. It anchored him. Brought him back to the present and pushed away memories of darker times.

You shed your clothes quickly and stepped in behind him. The warm water did nothing to mask Bucky’s labored breaths. You wrap your arms around his waist, placing open mouthed kisses to his shoulders. The skin beneath your palms his hot, hard, and heaving as you stroke the flesh below his belly button and rise to your tiptoes, your breasts skimming his broad back, hardening your nipples and soaking your core as your hands traveling the length of his torso, coming to a stop at his nipples. You tug them softly, nipping at the back of his neck gently. 

His hips jerk forward in response. A sharp inhale becomes a moan of want. The hand on the wall flexes.

You roll and pinch the hardened nubs between your fingers, drawing heady moans from him. Every movement creates delicious friction against your breasts, the movement of his muscles more than enough stimulation. You were incredibly turned on and ridiculously wet. 

Bucky was beautiful. It hurt your heart more than you could describe. He was everything you ever wanted, and you both had screwed it up so thoroughly it was hard to see a way to salvage it. 

But you could give him this. Even if it was just this once. One last goodbye.

You grab the loofah and shower gel from the hook, and squeeze out a generous amount. You work up a rich lather and drag it down his back, coating his skin. Across his shoulders, you take care not aggravate his scars. You massage the lather into his buttocks and down his legs, working out the kinks in his muscles as you go. 

Bucky rests his head on the wall in front of him. Sinful mewls and whimpers leave his lips as he thrusts into his hand. His hips move faster with every stroke of your hands over his body. 

You know he’s getting close, so you turn him around by the shoulder, remove his hand from his cock and kiss him deeply on the lips. 

He pulls you closer to him. His hands travel up your sides and come to a rest beneath your breasts. He cups them briefly in his before he moves one hand to your throat. The other drops down to grab your ass and squeeze. His hips are thrusting against you, driving his erection down, sliding it over your mound, and tormenting you with how close he was to where you needed him to be.

You drag your nails down his back, leaving raised red lines in their wake before you pull away from him. You pour another generous amount of shower gel onto the loofah and wash down his right arm. 

His left hand returns to wrap around his dick, stroking firmly but slowly. His eyes are shut tightly against the pleasure while his thumb skims over the tip before he moves down his shaft and twists at the base. He swallows heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing as you drag the loofah down his torso, purposefully avoiding his dick. Instead, you wash his thighs leisurely, moving down to his calves and going up again.

You feel unbearably hot as you capture his lips in another searing kiss. You gently remove his hand from his cock and take it in your own, mirroring his earlier movements. His head thuds loudly against the wall, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss and nip at his neck. 

Bucky moans freely. The hand he placed on your waist grips you tightly. God, he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Eyes screwed shut, long hair plastered against his face. His chest heaving with pleasure. He shone bright like a star. 

He stops your hand mid-stroke, intertwines his fingers with yours and walks you two steps backward. He turns you around and grabs the loofah.

He nudges your legs apart an inch, takes himself in hand, and guides his dick between your thighs, sliding himself over your sopping folds. His big body plasters to yours. His foot urges yours together, effectively sealing his throbbing cock between your legs. He takes the loofah to your breasts as he begins to move. 

His rock hard cock rubs against your neglected clit with every pass. You gasp and arch against him, pushing your breasts into his hands. He abandons the loofah in favor of running his soapy hands down your body. His teeth find the sensitive spot at the base of your neck. He bites down, and a hot lance of desire sparks through you. Your hands move to your clit, rubbing slow circles onto the nub while your hips move in tandem with his. 

Bucky moves your head to the side and meets your lips in a sloppy side kiss. His hands are on your waist, bringing your hips roughly back with his every thrust. He swats your fingers away and replaces them with his own, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers. It’s not enough to make you come, but enough to make you see stars. He moves your wet hair out of the way and bites down on your earlobe, making you cry out violently. He growls and spins you around, grabs you by the back of your thighs and lifts you. He drags your legs around his waist as your back hits the shower wall.

His eyes never stray from yours as he enters you agonizingly slowly. Your tight wet pussy clamps down on him as he bottoms out. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. Then moves slowly, barely pulling out, his pubic bone grinding into your clit with each return. He doesn't let you look away, baring his soul to you, all his emotions laid bare as he makes love to you.

“я люблю тебя.” I love you. He says it quietly but firmly. 

You blink back tears and fail miserably. Your hands move from his shoulders into his wet hair, and you kiss him passionately, tongues dancing in a frenzy. 

He speeds up his thrusts, repeating I love you over and over between his kisses. 

You can feel the truth of his words in your bones. It both breaks and warms your heart.

You could see that he knew. He knew that when this was over, you would both go your separate ways. You would go back to being friends, regardless of the love you shared. You didn't trust Bucky. You wanted to, God, how you wanted to throw caution to the wind and pretend nothing ever happened. Be a real family, a real couple, but you couldn’t. Too much hurt lived inside you to simply put it aside as nothing. The trust you’d shared had broken, and a few months of civility hadn’t changed that.

““я люблю тебя,” he whispers as he kisses the tears from your cheek. ““я люблю тебя,” he whispers as you drag your nails down his back. “я люблю тебя,” he moans as you begin to clench around him. ““я люблю тебя!” he yells as you come, triggering his own release. He thrusts erratically, repeating the words over and over as he empties himself inside you. He soothes you as you cry, thrusting gently to bring you both down from your high. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words never end. He continues to say them as if he could will the past away with them. 

 

“I love you too,” you sob, and Bucky buries your face in his neck, smoothing your wet hair down your back. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he croons. “I understand.” 

You hold onto him, relishing the last few minutes. 

He places you on the floor gently and tips your chin up so you can look him in the eye. “I understand, (Y/N). I get it.”

“I’m sorry, James. I wish it was different. I want to be with you, but I don't trust you. I can’t trust you.”

“Baby,” he replies lovingly. “We don’t have to be together to be a family. I ain’t gonna push ya. I’m sorry I did before, but just know Reyna and I aren’t going anywhere.” 

You lay your head on his chest and wrap your arms around him. The water was starting to run cold and you knew your time was nearly up. 

“I’ll respect your decision, babydoll. But I want you to know that I love you more than I ever did. I ain’t ever going to stop hoping, and if ever you change your mind, if ever you feel like we could be more, I’ll be right here, waiting.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

He kisses you sweetly one last time before he ushers you from the shower. “Thank you, (Y/N). you didn’t have to...” 

You raise a hand to cut him off. “It wasn’t obligation, Bucky. I did it because I wanted to. I did it for closure. I did it because I love you.” 

He smiles a crooked smile and wraps a towel around his waist. “I have to report to Fury. He is none too pleased with me, and then I need to pick up Reyna. I have a feeling she’s pissed too. Between you and me, I’m more afraid of the baby,” he chuckles.

He hesitates at the door. “Should we come over for dinner? I can pick up Italian. If Fury doesn't skin me alive.” 

You regard him seriously. “We eat together every night, Bucky. Besides, I want a full explanation on why your stupid ass went rogue, and I miss my girl. I haven’t seen her since...” 

He walks back to you and takes your hand in his own. He places a soft kiss on your hand and peeps up at you from his lashes.

“See you at seven.”


	34. Chapter 34

4 months later.

“Bucky!” you call out, walking through the door to the suite you share. Reyna was happily pulling the hair out of your bun, and you were horrifyingly late for a meeting having slept through two alarms and the aggressive wailing of a hungry Reyna.

Tony had moved the three of you to an empty floor in the compound where he’d modified the rooms for ease of access. While you and Bucky did not share a bedroom, you did share custody of Reyna. Her room sat between yours and his, an effective barrier between you. A large kitchen had been installed to help enable your love of baking. All the latest gadgets and gizmos, including a robotic chef which descended from the ceiling to cook gourmet meals at the push of a button, had been installed. The living room was decorated in soft colors. Light greys and blues complimented the room nicely while the walls and every flat surface were lined with pictures of your untraditional family.

You and Bucky were not a couple. Not by a long shot. You had kept yourself firmly in check after the shower incident. There were no lingering touches. No stolen glances. No longing looks. Or so you tried to convince yourself. 

Two months in you’d had enough and vowed to do something to rectify the situation. 

Bucky had agreed to see other people while keeping the family unit as strong as possible. He wasn’t happy about it, and he’d made his feeling on the matter clear. Even so, he’d gone on a few dates and so had you. So far, nothing had stuck.

“I’m in the shower!” he calls back. 

Cursing under your breath you place Reyna in her baby walker and press a kiss to her forehead. “Your daddy is the slowest man in the universe,” you announce with a conspiratorial air. 

She takes no notice as her chubby legs pump her furiously around the room. Her childish laughter rings brightly in your ears, making you smile. 

Setting your sight on the bathroom door, you stride confidently through it, make a beeline for the toilet and flush it once, then twice. A vindictive thrill blossoms as Bucky emits a high pitched scream. It’s startlingly similar to a tea kettle. 

“What the hell?!” he yells, grabbing blindly for the towel he hung over the shower door.

You fold your arms across your chest and tap your stilettoed foot on the smooth tile in irritation. You were dressed to the nines. A red figure-hugging skirt rested mid-thigh, though you’d forgone stockings. With the amount of fighting you did, they never really lasted long. You accompanied the skirt with a sheer white lace top, a white double-breasted jacket and paired it with a killer pair of Louboutins. Your hair was slicked back into a tight bun you touched up swiftly, fixing what Reyna had managed to tug free. Minimal makeup and bright red lips finished your look.

Bucky exits the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, and gives you a subtle once over. His cheeks color lightly. “What’s the rush, babydoll?” he grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes you hand him his pants. “Honestly, James. We have a briefing in fifteen minutes, and we still have to drop Reyna at school!”

Bucky curses hotly. “That’s today? Shit!”

“How do you not remember it’s today?” you ask in disbelief.

“The calendar app on my phone is confusing,” he mutters.

“Are you kidding me right now? We have an A.I in the building!” you retort.

The blush rises further in his cheeks. He mumbles an incoherent reply and drops the towel. You instinctively avert your gaze and he smirks triumphantly at you. “Like what you see, doll?”. 

You raise your eyes and look him up and down, taking your time. 

His gaze darkens, and he takes a step toward you. He’s so close you can feel the steam wafting from him. 

You close the distance between you. Your eyes drift from his down to his lips. You get so close to him your lips are inches away from touching, and blink up at him innocently. “I’ve seen better dicks on a eunuch,” you reply huskily and place a quick kiss on his lips before pushing past him. “Get dressed. I’m taking Reyna to school. Don’t be late for your own reinstatement, Barnes.” 

Bucky’s uproarious laughter follows you down the hall.

*********

Bucky huffed into the conference room with five minutes to spare. The entire team was seated around the roundtable. 

Fury sat stoically beside you. 

You had kept the job of media liaison, rarely participating in missions anymore, knowing Bucky would never give it up. 

The last four months of his suspension had been hell on him. He was permanently on edge, jumpy, and a serial fidgeter. 

The tension between you didn’t help matters, but you figured running headfirst into battle wasn't the way to go. Reyna would need a parent if, god forbid, something were to happen to Bucky. 

Secretly you were relieved. You had spent the better part of your life fighting. It was nice not to worry about whether you would make it home from your workday.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Fury begins. “Four months ago you commandeered an S.H.I.E.L.D jet to carry out an unauthorized mission resulting in the death of twenty Hydra operatives. Now, I don’t have a problem with taking out a few Hydra agents. Less work for me. I do have a problem with the chain of command being ignored because of a little torture.” 

You clear your throat loudly. 

Fury rolls his eyes. “That being said, we need you back on active duty as Agent (L/N)’s retirement has left us short-handed. You will be placed on probation under the supervision of Falcon.” 

You swallow the giggle rising in your throat and do your best to look professional. 

Bucky’s horrified expression would forever be seared into your memory. He does his best impression of a goldfish while Sam beams widely at him from across the table.

“You got a problem with that, Sergeant?” Fury asks. 

“No sir,” Bucky replies defeated. 

Not being able to keep it in any longer, the entire rooms erupts in laughter. Even Fury cracks a smile.

*******

Twenty minutes later with the meeting adjourned, you shuffle the papers in front of you into a neat pile, going through the mental checklist of your day's tasks in your head while the team files out of the room. 

All but Bucky who lingers in the doorway, hopping from foot to foot. 

“Whats up Bucky?” you ask distractedly. You had scores and scores of paperwork waiting for you in your office and he was in your way. 

“Do you wanna get dinner tonight?” he blurts. 

“We eat together every night, Bucky,” you reply.

“I mean at a restaurant,” he clarifies.

“We have Reyna’s parent-teacher conference tonight, Buck.”

“That’s tonight?”

You groan out loud. “Do you ever use your phone? I sent you a reminder yesterday.” 

He has the good sense to look sheepish at your words and rubs the back of his neck like he always did when he’d messed up. “I got my days mixed up. Sorry, doll.” 

You sigh and relent. “How about tomorrow? Reyna has swimming at four. Could we get dinner afterward? There’s that Mexican place around the corner from her school. They have a play area for the kids.”

Bucky blushes and stammers, “I uhm... I meant just the two of us? We could get Steve to babysit.”

Your eyes snap to his. Caution rises in your gut. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“I guess I am,” he replies.

“Bucky, I thought we agreed? No relationships. Not between us,” you say gently. 

Bucky’s face falls before he covers it up. “Alright. How about dinner between two exhausted parents in desperate need of a night off,” he counters. 

“Bucky...” 

He shakes his head. “I’m serious. No date. No ulterior motives. Just dinner. We can celebrate my reinstatement.” His expression is so open and honest you find it hard to doubt his words. 

You find yourself nodding in agreement before you could talk yourself out of it. “Okay, but just dinner,” you agree, picking up your papers and walking toward him.

“I don't want you to wait for me to change my mind about us Buck,” you say quietly as you come to a stop in front of him. 

He smiles sadly and looks down, fidgeting with the tips of his metal fingers. His hair hangs freely in his face. “Guys gotta have hope,” he says brightly and places a kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm and soft on your skin. 

It sends a shiver up your spine you have a hard time ignoring. 

“See ya tonight,” he says in parting, leaving you alone in the conference room.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, straighten your spine, and plaster a smile on your face. You had work to do. You didn't have time to think about the pain you were inflicting on the both of you.


	35. Chapter 35

You moan in relief as the elevator doors to your floor open. Your feet were killing you. The heels you wore pinching your toes painfully. It was past eleven pm. You’d missed dinner with Bucky and Reyna, you’d missed bath time and tucking her in. You were exhausted, and Natasha certainly didn't make your job any easier.

Hobbling out of the elevator, you kick your shoes into a corner, wincing as a new sharp pain makes itself known. Gods, high heels truly were the work of the devil, but they were so pretty. You drop your jacket next to your shoes. At this point you couldn’t care less about fabric care.

Shuffling awkwardly toward the couch on painful feet, you plop down heavily and throw your arm across your face. You let out a relieved sigh. You were going to murder her. She was going to die an agonizing and slow death. Friendship be damned. Natalia Romanoff was a dead woman.

“Rough day?” Bucky asks amusedly. 

You shift your arm slightly so you can look at him. 

He’s standing in front of you, grey sweatpants hanging low on his waist. He’s completely shirtless. His hair pulled into a loose bun at the base of his neck. He’s barefoot, and he looks good enough to eat. He’s also holding two wine glasses and a bottle of wine in one hand with a plate of cupcakes in the other. 

“You’re not overly fond of Natasha by chance?” you ask crankily.

He takes a seat beside you, handing you the cupcakes and uncorking the wine. He pours a generous amount into both glasses and hands one to you. He places his glass on the coffee table beside him and pats his lap twice. Taking the hint you deposit your feet in his lap, and without missing a beat he rubs firm but gentle circles into the balls of your feet. “What did she do this time?” he asks while you take a huge gulp of wine.

“She threatened to castrate secretary Ross,” you reply monotonously. 

Bucky splutters in shock, his eyes wide. His hands stop moving and you whine in frustration and wiggle your toes. Bucky resumes his movements, his eyes never wavering from yours. “Why?” he finally manages to get out.

“Wanda.” 

Bucky groans out loud. “Ah hell. Doesn’t this guy learn?” 

Snorting loudly, you down the wine in your glass and reach for a cupcake. “He’s trying to pass a proposal that would see Wanda collared when she’s not on a mission. He thinks she’s dangerous and unstable.” 

Bucky’s face contorts in anger. You can tell he’s ready to castrate Ross himself, but he remains silent.

“He thinks she’ll turn on us. Go, rogue. He’s calling it preemptive. Tony flipped his shit. Steve politely threatened to shove his shield up Ross’s ass, Natalia...” you sigh, your appetite suddenly gone. Pushing the cupcakes away, you lay your head on the arm of the chair and thrusting your wine glass at Bucky. 

He chuckles and refills it. 

“Natalia slammed him against the wall. Threatened to castrate him and send his dick to his wife.”

Bucky stares at you wide-eyed. “Oh boy,” he mutters. 

“Yeah. He wanted her brought up on charges and have her suspended.”

“Wanted?” Bucky echoes. 

You smile sheepishly. “I may have proof Ross is having a dalliance with someone who is not his wife. Courtesy of Tony. I told him I would send it to Congress if he came after any of us.”

“Jesus, (Y/N)!”

“Yeah, I am number one on his shit list.” Chuckling heartily, you take another sip of wine. “He’s backed off for the time being, but, he’s probably going to come after me or Nat eventually. It’s a shame really. Rosa is such a sweet girl.” 

Bucky nods. “Is that the mistress?”

You take a long lingering sip and swallow it down. “Yeah, she’s studying molecular biology at Columbia. Full ride. Tony and I are making arrangements in case Ross gets nasty.” 

Bucky remains silent, concentrating on your feet. 

“How was Reyna?” you ask, breaking the silence in the room. 

“A bit cranky. She missed you,” he replies quietly. 

“Sorry Buck, It was a long day.”

Bucky stops and takes a deep breath. “(Y/N), the papers I gave you, have you come to a decision?” 

Your heart stalls and you look guiltily into your glass. “You knew I was going to say no, Bucky,” you mumble. 

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “I don't understand, doll. You love her just as much as I do.”

“It has nothing to do with my love for Reyna. She’s my daughter. But, I cant sign the adoption papers, James.” You blink back the onset of tears. “You will move on from me eventually, Bucky. You will find someone else to love. How do we explain that to a child? It’s not fair to her.” You pull your feet from his lap and set your glass on the table. “I’ll always be a part of her life. But this? This will cause her nothing but heartache and grief in the long run.”

Bucky scoffs and stands up from his seat. He regards you for a moment before he smiles sadly. “You should go to bed, (Y/N).” 

You swallow thickly and reach for his hand. His fingers twitch as yours close around his. “Bucky, this is the right thing to do.” 

Bucky chuckles and drops your hand. 

Your gaze snaps to his, fear blossoming in your gut at his expression.

“I know I screwed up in the past, (Y/N). I own it. I accept responsibility. But you? You hide behind, “The right thing,” like its a shield. You stop yourself from having real happiness. This is not about me and you. It’s about our daughter. Reyna chose you. She loves you. Even if I find someone else, which by the way is a completely fucking stupid thing to say, she couldn’t, wouldn't, replace you. You’re not punishing me or yourself, you’re punishing her.” He drops a kiss on your forehead and strides out of the room, leaving you alone in the living room.

You slam your head back violently on the couch. Your approach to Bucky and Reyna was not working. You were constantly wrapped in guilt. It choked you. What’s worse was Bucky was right. By keeping him at a distance, you had thrown up a shield against Reyna too. You were guarded and permanently on defense, so afraid were you of letting your guard down with Bucky you were stopping yourself from being truly happy. Something needed to change.

Bucky had been nothing but understanding, bar the occasional flirtation or slip up. He had respect for your boundaries, and you were punishing them both for your inability to move forward. You were stuck in the past. Stuck in the frame of mind which made you leave in the first place.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Schedule an appointment with Dr. Martinez, please.”

“Which one, miss? Cardiologist or Psychologist.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Psychologist.”


	36. Chapter 36

You walked quickly into the dimly lit restaurant acutely aware you were half an hour late to meet Bucky for dinner. Your first appointment with the doctor had taken longer than you anticipated it would, but it was worth it. You hadn’t gotten into the nitty-gritty of your life, but knowing you had someone to talk to, free of judgment, was freeing.

You scan the sparsely populated room, eyes landing on Bucky in seconds. Your heart skips a painful beat. 

He was staring mournfully into his whiskey glass, obviously, under the impression you had stood him up. His phone was laying next to his plate, and you knew he had been checking it frequently in case you texted him or tried to call.

Walking quickly toward him, ignoring the people around you, your heels clicked loudly on the marble floor. You tap Bucky on the shoulder. 

His head snaps around and he sighs an audible sigh of relief. He stands from his chair and places a chaste kiss on your cheek. “I thought for a second you weren’t coming, darlin’,” he says as he helps you from your coat. 

“I’m sorry, B. I had an appointment that ran late.” 

He nods and escorts you to your seat, pulling the chair out for you. He waits until you take a seat and pushes the chair gently underneath the table with your help.

The waiter comes to the table in a flash and takes your drink order before disappearing as quickly as he arrived. 

“An appointment?” Bucky probes lightly. 

You can see past the facade. 

His eyes are hard set with a cold glint to them. His mouth pulled tight at the corners. 

“You look like you’ve been sucking on lemon, James,” you reply in irritation. 

Bucky huffs out a small chuckle and shakes his head, going back to staring at his whiskey glass. 

“Damnit, Barnes. Is this how the entire evening is going to go? I can leave if you would prefer?” you snap.

“Are you seeing someone?” he blurts.

“What?”

“Are you seeing someone?” he asks again. 

You stare blankly at him for a full minute, your mind short-circuiting at his behavior. Finally, the anger punches through, hot in your gut. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you reply loudly. 

The heads of patrons turn accusingly toward you. Bucky’s face flushes a bright red, his metal fingers tightening around a fork, bending it in half. He doesn't reply to your question, he just stares.

“Alright, okay” you mutter, grabbing your jacket and purse and standing from your chair, knocking it backward with the force. It thuds loudly on the floor, bringing the restaurant to a silent and abrupt halt. “I do not have time for your immature bullshit. I’m going home. I’ll pick up Reyna on the way.”

You don’t give him an opportunity to answer, just leave him sitting alone and embarrassed at the table with naught but his Whisky glass and a bent fork for company.

*****************

It was two am. You’d spent the vast majority of the evening staring dejectedly at the ceiling. 

Reyna had been bathed, fed and read too and was sleeping soundly in the room next to yours. Bucky hadn’t come home, and you had an inkling he had gone to Steve. Or maybe he’d picked up another floozy in a bar your mind supplies viciously. 

Immediate guilt flashes through you followed closely by intense frustration. You resist the urge to punch your pillow into a formless lump, and settle for kicking the comforter off your legs. You had absent mindlessly thrown on one of Clint's training shirts after your shower and hadn’t bothered with shorts.

Your bedroom door creaks open. Bucky’s handsome face peers through the crack.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask snappishly. 

He shuffles in awkwardly, the distinct look of kicked puppy on his face. “I came to apologize.”

“You’ve done it. Goodnight.” 

He sighs and ignores you, throwing himself on the bed beside you. “I was an ass.”

“As per usual.”

“Unfair.”

“Accurate,” you state, rolling onto your side to face him. 

“I’m trying,” Bucky says softly. 

You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath. “And I'm tired, Buck. It’s been an endless shit storm since we broke up. We tiptoe around each other. We’re constantly fighting our jealousy and our feelings. It’s exhausting.” 

Bucky grunts, but stays silent. 

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living like this.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ve started seeing a psychologist. It’s why I was late. I’ve only had my first appointment, but so far she seems really nice. Intelligent, witty and professional. She does couples counseling too.”

Bucky grabs you by the waist and rolls you to his chest. He plays with the end of your hair, twisting it around his fingers. “You want to go to couples counseling?” he asks, not a hint of joking or judgment in his voice. “We aren’t exactly a couple, (Y/N). How would that work?”

“Buck, we live together, sleep together when Reyna is having a tough night. We spend every waking moment together. We’re a couple who doesn't have sex.” You pause to take a fortifying breath, “We have complicated, deep-seated trust issues, and we date other people.” 

Bucky snorts and laughs. 

You shush him, afraid he may wake the baby.

“If you’re really that hard up, doll, I will gladly offer myself as tribute,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

You whack him in the ribs. “You are such an asshole. I’m trying to be serious.” 

He smiles and rolls you both over, placing you on your back with him hovering above you.

“I know, babydoll. I’ll do whatever you want if it gets us back on track. It’s no picnic for me either. We agreed on no relationships, but it’s hard when I gotta see you everyday carrying my child. Our child. When I have to see your smile, or the way you light up a room. It’s a knife to the heart. I think counseling would do us good.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank you.” 

Bucky smiles, and you ignore the way your heart lurches with the action. You become intensely aware of the position you’re both in, and you clamp down heavily on the x-rated thoughts which spring to mind. 

Bucky seems to notice. He clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. “Don’t objectify me,” he snaps in mock offense. 

You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder. 

He grins wolfishly and kisses your forehead. “G’night, doll,” he murmurs against your skin. He rolls off of you and stands, throwing a last wink over his shoulder. 

“G’night Bucky,” you reply as he closes the door behind him.

Motherfucker, you were in trouble.


	37. Chapter 37

Two months later.

“Shh, sweetie. Mommy’s trying,” you try and comfort the screaming child in your arms but it was no use. 

Breakfast was beyond salvageable. You had burnt the eggs to a brown mush, and the bacon had gone from crispy to a charred lump. 

Reyna had picked up the flu from preschool, and your nights were spent cleaning up vomit, or changing the foulest nappies you had ever come across. Both you and Bucky were sleeping in shifts and had taken time off work.

Placing Reyna in her high chair, you serve her a bowl of coco puffs. Her crying quiets some, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Grabbing your lukewarm coffee you take a sip. You were beyond exhausted, running on caffeine and little sleep. Bucky was no better, although he seemed to have more of a spring in his step than usual.

A month after you brought up the idea of going for couples counseling, you had gone to your first appointment together. You wanted to see Dr. Martinez alone for a while first, get a handle on your own issues, and you had been making steady progress. So much so that two weeks after your first appointment you signed the adoption papers. 

Strangely, you were more aware of Bucky after your sessions. More aware of his proximity. You found yourself planning outings and schedules with him in mind. The conversation flowed more freely, and you didn't shrink away from physical contact anymore, often leaning into his touch.

The nights, however, were the worst. 

Reyna’s illness required constant attention which was why you’d set up a small cot in her room. On the third evening Bucky had enough and carried you to his bed. 

“You have a bed, (Y/N), and that clunky piece of metal ain't it,” he’d grumbled softly. He tucked you snugly into his bed and had ever so gently brought Reyna and her cot into his bedroom. 

You had been sharing his bed ever since, secretly relishing his closeness. You nearly purred when you woke up one morning and Bucky was staring at you with naked adoration.

“Morning , darlin’,” Bucky yawns tiredly as he shuffles past you in the kitchen. His fingers skim your waist gently when he reaches for a coffee cup. 

“Morning, Bucky.” 

He smiles and winks at you, nodding toward the now empty cup in your hand. “Refill?”

“Please.”

“How she doing?” he asks. 

“Better than your shift, I think. She hasn’t thrown up on me yet.” 

Bucky hides his relief well. 

Neither of you owned a clean piece of clothing. Laundry day had come and gone. Your hair was oily, and you were sure you smelled like a trash pile. The baggy t-shirt you were wearing was covered in food stains and spit up, and you no longer owned a wearable pair of pants.

Bucky hands you a fresh cup of coffee and leans against the counter. He takes a long appreciative sip before he focuses his attention back on you. “Wanda’s birthday party is this weekend. Tony is hosting,” he reminds you.

“Shit! I completely forgot! I don't have a dress.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Call Nat. I’ll take Reyna. You deserve a break.” 

You hesitate slightly. “Are you sure? You don't need me here?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, we’ll be okay,” he reassures you. 

You shoot him a grateful smile before reaching for your phone and sending Nat a quick text. “Should we leave around seven? I’ll get our usual babysitter.” 

Bucky looks away from you guiltily and mumbles indistinctly into his coffee cup. 

“You wanna try that again, Buck?” you ask dryly. 

He blinks slowly and takes a fortifying breath. “I have a date.”

“Oh,” you reply blankly. “Oh, of course.” You set your cup heavily down on the counter. 

You had no right to be upset. He was allowed to see other people. The closeness you shared was nothing but friendship you remind yourself. Your heart, however, does not seem to get the message, and you blink away the tears which were forming in the corner of your eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll hitch a ride with Nat,” you add in a surprisingly steady voice. 

Your phone pings and Nat’s name flashes across your screen, asking you to meet her in an hour at your favorite coffee shop. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to go together. We spend ninety percent of our time in each other's pockets. I figured you’d be sick of me by now,” Bucky jokes, trying desperately to get the smile back on your face.

“It’s fine, Buck. I shouldn’t have assumed. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Wait… that’s not-”

“I have to meet Nat in an hour,” you cut him off. “You sure you’re going to be okay alone?” 

Bucky deflates but nods his head. “I’ll be fine doll.”

Doll. You wondered if he called her doll, too. When was he seeing her? He was home every night. During the workday? Which meant you probably worked with her. 

You ran through every female coworker you knew in your head. Was she an agent? A receptionist? Did she make him laugh? Did she ease his worries and calm his nightmares? Were they sleeping together?

“(Y/N)?” Bucky says, snapping his fingers in front of your face. 

“Sorry, I need a shower. I’ll see you later.” You absently place a kiss on his cheek, his scruffy beard tickling your nose. You do the same with Reyna and head to the bathroom. 

Lost deep in thought you move mechanically. Your mind conjures images of Bucky’s new love, supplying all the salacious details, and filling in all the gaps. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest. 

This was jealousy and hurt which mingled with intense disappointment. You were caught off guard by the intensity of it. After all these years you still held a deep love for the soldier. The recent counseling sessions had brought that fact into sharp focus.

You had taken Bucky’s presence for granted, taken his love as a given. You had been incredibly selfish and toyed with his feelings, albeit unintentionally. He had been so patient, so understanding, and you had clung to it. Clung to the idea that you could stay this way forever, but the realization that Bucky was moving on hit you like a freight train, leaving you acutely aware you had squandered your last chance with him.

Bucky was now off limits, and you would have to accept it or risk losing him altogether.


	38. Chapter 38

“I called in a favor with Pepper,” Nat says as she gracefully sits in front of you. “She sent over dress samples to my place. Her tailor is on standby. He’s waiting for us.” 

You quirk an eyebrow at her statement. “Explain.”

“I could see your expression through the phone, sestra. What did Bucky do?”

“Nothing. Not a damn thing. He’s been a perfect gentleman and far more understanding than I deserve.” She stays silent, encouraging you to get it all out. To finally lay it bare. “We have this twisted setup. We’re playing at being a family. We act like a couple, talk like a couple, but we aren’t a couple.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and blow out a frustrated breath before continuing with your monologue. “It’s psychotic. We’re psychotic.”

“Bucky’s dating, huh?” Nat drawls, eyeing you with an air of bemusement. 

“He’s bringing her to Wanda’s birthday party.” 

Nat chokes on the water she’s sipping, her usual stoic composure slipping into righteous indignation. “That rat bastard! He is not!” she says, her eyes wide. 

“He told me this morning when I asked him what time he wanted to leave. And, to be fair, Bucky can date whomever he wants. I have no right to be angry.” 

Her expression softens, and she reaches for your hand across the table, giving it a light squeeze. “What do you want to do?” she asks sympathetically.

“I think... I think I need to move out, Nat. I need to give him the space to move on.” 

Nat gapes goldfish-like at you. Her immaculate features are painted with shock. “But... Reyna?” she finally manages to blurt. 

“Bucky and I can work out a custody agreement. I think this is better for everybody,” you reply sadly, your heart breaking with every word out of your mouth.

“Isn’t this something you should be discussing with your doctor first? Or Bucky? Or both? This is a big step, (Y/N). If you leave that’s it. It’s really over,” she reminds you gently. 

“I know that, Nat, but I can’t watch while he loves someone else. I’m being selfish, I’m aware, but would you be able to? Could you watch while Sam laughed and loved someone who wasn’t you?”

Nat’s eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open at your words. “You know?”

“Of course I know. I’m a spy”

“You’re retired.”

“Doesn’t matter, I have eyes. Besides, I heard you moaning his name in the third floor supply closet last week.”

“Shit!”

“Sam has a daddy kink, huh?”

“If you tell anyone, I will kill you,” she says, deadly serious while you burst into a fit of giggles. 

She follows shortly afterward, drawing attention from the surrounding people. Soon, your wiping at your face. Fat tears of laughter leak from your eyes and a rush of elation tingles through you. As the giggle subside, you regard your friend closely. She looked happier than you’d seen her in awhile. There was a light in her eyes, bringing a warmth to them. 

“I’m happy for you, Nat. Both you and Sam deserve happiness.” 

Nat smiles beautifully at you, squeezing your hand once again. “Thank you. You deserve happiness too, you know,” she says gently. 

You smile sadly. “I don’t think happiness is in the cards for me, Natalia. I can’t... I don’t know how. I’m finally starting to understand that Bucky is it for me. I’ve made peace with the past. It happened. We moved forward. But, somehow, I can’t take the leap. I don’t know what it is, or why. I would trust Bucky with my life.”

“I sense a but.”

“No but. I want him. Desperately. I love him. Hopelessly. More maybe than I did back then. He’s different. Reyna has changed him, and the therapy did him so much good. I just can’t help feeling like too much has happened. Like there’s too much history. At what point do I let it go? Let him go?”

“You don’t. You fight to make it work. You find a way to make it work. You’re torturing yourself and him. If you love him like you say you do, you would do anything to be together. Stop overthinking this, (Y/N). You’re doing more harm than good,” she replies matter of factly. Her tone brokers no room for argument, and you have the distinct feeling you’ve just been given an order.

“None of this changes the fact that Bucky is bringing a date to Wanda’s party, and this conversation is completely pointless,” you point out. 

Natalia smiles a wicked smile. It was one you had only ever seen her use on a mark. A distinct thrill of fear runs up your spine. 

“Whatever it is, no!” you add hurriedly. 

She only smiles wider and you know you’ve already lost.

“What are you planning?” you demand.

“We’re going back to my place,” she announces. “We have work to do.”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova! You will tell me what you’re planning this instant, or so help me, I will do bodily harm,” you warn her sternly. 

She arches an eyebrow, chewing the inside of her cheek in thought.“You are going to outshine every woman in the room tonight. Bucky Barnes won’t be able to keep his eyes off of you.”

“Natasha, no.” 

“Natasha, yes!”


	39. Chapter 39

“I feel ridiculous,” you complain. 

The dress Natasha had forced you in was skin tight and heavy. The beadwork was impeccable. The lacework delicate and flowing. It probably cost more than you made in a year, but you certainly weren't going to tell Pepper no. She had a fiery temper and refused to back down. Especially over something as mundane as a dress.

Natasha kept your hair simple. She wrapped it in an elegant chignon bun with wisps framing your face. Delicate pearl earrings adorned your ears. Your makeup complimented your ensemble. Winged eyeliner with a touch of smoke, nothing too dark with enough highlighter to power thirty youtube vloggers, and a sultry red lip.

You felt ridiculous, yes, but you looked like you had walked straight off the pages of a magazine. It was a surreal feeling. You had often dressed up to draw the attention of a mark. To seduce and gain the leverage of whomever landed themselves on the wrong side of S.H.I.E.L.D. But this felt different. It felt more real. Like the stakes were higher than life or death.

Your heart was on the line. 

It sounded cheesy as hell, and you were fully aware of the butterflies flapping in your stomach. You would either tell Bucky what you wanted, or you would let him be. You weren’t going to stand in the way of his happiness even if it wasn't with you. 

You would gracefully exit, stage left, move out and cry until you had no tears left.

“Shut up.” Natasha bitches good-naturedly, 

Rolling your eyes you hop off the counter. “We’re going to be late. You look gorgeous as always,” you compliment. 

She was stunning in a strapless black gown which hugged every part of her just right. Her hair spiraled down her back in loose curls and a demure strand of pearls rested just above the hollow of her throat. “You look good enough to eat.” She winks. 

You smile fondly at her teasing and grab her by the arm, pulling her from the room. She follows dutifully behind you, entering the communal living areas of the tower. The rest of the team were chatting amicably and loudly amongst each other. You had a feeling Thor had broken out the Asgardian liquor. The God in question was looking dapper in a dark suit which your gaze roams appreciatively over. 

“Thor,” you greet.

“My lady.” He bows deeply, takes your hand in his, and places a chaste kiss to your knuckles. It's a soft brushing of lips, followed by a pleasant shock of electricity. He grins wickedly at you. “You look absolutely ravishing.” 

You bow your head in acknowledgment. “Will your brother be joining us this evening?”

He chuckles fondly. “Loki flat out refused. He’s discovered Netflix. It’s been a nightmare. And what of you? Where is your Sergeant Barnes?”

“I’m afraid Bucky and I are no longer together.” 

Thor grimaces sympathetically. “I too, understand the heartache of love lost. Allow me to escort you this evening, my lady? A woman of your beauty should not be left alone, lest mongrels steal you from us.” He pauses momentarily, his gaze lingering on your cleavage. “Especially in that dress.” 

If you were a lesser mortal Thor's charm would have your panties in ruins on the floor. As it was you were feeling a tad uncomfortable in the underwear department. You often forget that Thor was the God of thunder and fertility. His charm and sex appeal were unparalleled. Well, maybe not entirely. Bucky was no slouch. Luckily, you pull yourself together long enough to form a coherent sentence. “Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm. 

You accept it gladly, straighten your spine and let Thor lead you from the room.

************************

The ballroom was beautifully decorated. Awash with black and silver, fairy lights seem to float just below the ceiling. The floor was starlike. It twinkled and shone like thousands of galaxies had been caught in it. Candles were artfully placed around the place, seemingly unsupported. You idly wondered if Tony had asked Loki for help. It was pure magic. You had never seen anything more beautiful.

Wanda was due any moment and you’d yet to lay eyes on Vision. You were aware from idle chatter of a covert mission he and Clint had been sent on, but you had no idea if it was true. 

People were filing in through the large wooden doors, immaculately dressed men and women. All stupidly gorgeous. Not for the first time, the thought that Tony picked them all from a catalog rose unbidden. 

Bucky was nowhere to be seen either. 

You were beginning to worry.

Thor taps you lightly on the shoulder and offers you a tumbler of whiskey. 

You accept it gratefully. Your nerves were on fire. 

“How fares young Reyna?” he asks in passing. 

“Wonderful. She’s growing like a weed and takes more and more after her father on the daily.” 

Thor moves to speak when the band cuts him off. He pulls you in at the waist, his large hand warm on your side. He smiles saucily down at you, just as the double doors fling open revealing a stunning Wanda with a heartbreakingly handsome Bucky at her side. 

Your heart sinks. 

As if pulled by a magnet his gaze catches yours. The room explodes in applause, cheers for the birthday girl rise like a gale in the room. Wanda blushes prettily under the attention, but Bucky’s eyes travel from you to Thor, murder written clearly on his face.

It’s too much and you clumsily excuse yourself, heading toward the elevator located on the other side of the ballroom. 

Bucky places a swift kiss on Wanda’s cheek and hands her over to Steve. The latter sweeping her awkwardly into a dance. Bucky stalks after you, people parting in front of him, sensing his fury.

He reaches you just as the elevator doors begin to close and steps in beside you, pushing the roof level button. 

Ignoring him completely you stare blankly at the elevator wall, willing yourself not to cry.

“Thor, huh?” Bucky breaks the silence. 

You let out a very unladylike snort and whirl on him. “Wanda, huh?” you spit. 

His eyes widen comically. “Wha...?”

“Wanda!” you screech. “Why Wanda? You could have chosen anyone! Are you purposely trying to hurt me? What the fuck were you thinking!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he yells back, his ire matching yours pound for pound, causing your mouth to snap shut. “Now, for once, you are going to listen to every word I say. No interrupting. No jumping to half-assed conclusions. Do you understand me?” he says slowly and deliberately. His large figure looms over yours. 

For a moment you’re stunned speechless, then, anger surges. “Are you being serious? You are, aren't you?” you reply, matching his tone. “You listen to me, James Barnes, that shit don't fly with me! We both know I could match your super soldier self no problem. Don’t try that macho shit with me. I will kick your ass into the next fucking century!”

“Jesus! Do you ever shut up?” he roars, slamming his fist so hard into the emergency stop button, you flinch in sympathy. 

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Bucky! I’m warning you.”

Bucky rakes his hands through his hair before he turns and slams his fist into the decorative mirror. It bursts in a hail of glass, sharp shards flying through the air, missing you by inches.

Bucky explodes right with it. I am so sick of this bullshit!” he rages. “I have done everything you asked me to. I gave you space, I didn't push. Fucking hell, I grovelled and begged. And you!” he points, jabbing a metal finger into your chest. “You treat me like I’m your house boy. Like I'm there for your convenience. I am done with this! Done!”

“Houseboy!” you yell back. “You screw everything in a skirt and you’re judging me? The fucking ego on you!” 

Bucky clenches his jaw so hard you can hear the bones crack. “I’m not sleeping with anyone! Least of all Wanda! How often have you spread your legs for Thor?” he spits venomously.

The slap comes out of nowhere, catching you both off guard. 

You rally magnificently. “Thor offered to escort me, you colossal asshole!” you scream, pushing Bucky backward. 

He catches your wrists in his hands and pins them to your side. “Vision is on a mission! Wanda asked me to stand in for him. Stop acting crazy!” 

You try and land a headbutt, lost completely to years of pent-up rage. Bucky dodges just in time and shoves you hard into the opposite wall. The elevator rocks precariously with the force.   
You stare at him in shock. He’s breathing heavily. Your handprint is blood red on his face. His hair is tangled mess. His dress shirt ripped at the collar.

In an instant, Bucky is on you. His lips claim yours in a fierce, mind-numbing, breath-stealing kiss. There's no finesse, only primal anger and teeth. 

Your hands fly into his hair, matching him with everything you have. 

Bucky breaks the kiss. His eyes are hard with anger. “I’m going to fuck the rage right out of you.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew! The last chapter! Happy reading!

You shove Bucky hard in the chest, sending him staggering backward a step, clearly caught off guard by your sudden change in mood. His eyes carry the evidence of his lust. His lips red and plump from your biting. 

You drop low and swipe his feet from under him. He lands with a heavy oomph on his back and the elevator rocks hard, causing the hinges to creak ominously with the pressure. 

You place your stilettoed foot on his chest, and Bucky fights to contain his smile. You dig your pointed heel harder into the muscle, but to your surprise Bucky moans, his eyes flutter closed and his metal hand closes around your ankle. With a tug, he digs the heel in harder. 

You ignore the answering pang in your gut and the dampening of your panties. 

Bucky’s nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. His pupils dilate further. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His breath comes out in short, sharp pants. Bright blue eyes watch you with smoldering intensity, and when his lips part, his pink tongue sliding slowly over his lips, you follow the movement, subconsciously biting your lip in response. 

His hand travels higher. Cold metal fingers leave goosebumps in their wake. You inhale sharply when he reaches the back of your knee, and his movements stall. 

“Do you want me to worship you, baby?” Bucky asks, his voice gravelly. “Do you want me to show you how I see only you?” His hand resumes its movement up your thigh and raises your leg enough to remove the stilleto from his pec. Warm flesh fingers find the delicate strap, trace it once, then snap it like it’s paper. Your shoe is thrown to the side, and Bucky places soft open mouthed kisses on the inside of your ankle. 

His gaze bores into yours as he moves up, using the strength of his rock hard abs to raise him inch by glorious inch off the floor of the elevator. He kisses slowly up your leg, taking his sweet time, prolonging the torture. He nips and sucks. He bites down on the smooth flesh and soothes the sting with small licks. 

Before you know it your moaning softly. Your head is thrown back. Your right hand has clenched a fist into your dress. All the delicate pearls and jewels and beads are cutting into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. His touch is magic, heat and possession. He makes you ache with the slow pace and wandering lips.

Bucky sucks a bruise into your inner thigh, making you gasp and arch. He chuckles softly and places your foot down next to him as he settles back to the floor where he divests you of your other shoe. You stand barefoot, away from the destruction of the mirror, glad the shards of glass hadn't cut you to ribbons, and for Tony’s need to enlarge everything he owns allowing you distance from the carnage. 

Bucky runs both his hands up the backs of your calves, behind your knees, and up higher until he can squeeze your thighs.. He’s desperate. His eyes beg you, plead with you. The evidence of his desire strains against his dress pants, twitching in anticipation as he remains stationary on his back waiting for you to say yes. He won’t move, not yet, not without your say so, and you love it, revel in the way he’s given you all the power. Even now, as he has these past months, he’s letting you lead.

You nod, and Bucky wastes no time. He sits up with a grace you envy, a fluidity inherent in his tight abs, and wastes no time shoving your dress out of the way and licking a long stripe straight up your clothed core. He nuzzles against your clit with his nose, then sucks the nub through your panties, drawing a high pitched whine from your throat.

“Baby... oh baby, you’re so beautiful,” he moans when your hips jerk forward. 

Your left hand finds its way to your breast, squeezing hard against the tender flesh. You roll your nipple between your fingers through the fabric of your dress, relishing in the depravity of the situation. A delicious tingle of anticipation runs up your spine. “Bucky...” 

He curses and rips the laces panties from your core, leaving them in a tattered mess on the elevator floor. He inserts a cool metal finger into your hole, crooking it against your walls until he finds the soft, spongy treasure he seeks. He strokes and massages, holding you upright as your knees begin to buckle. Softly he murmurs heated words of lust while his fingers bring you closer to ecstasy. He gently adds another to stretch you out in preparation of what’s to come. 

You rolls your hips with every thrust, chasing the blinding light you know you’ll find at the end. You need to feel the high. You crave it. The closeness it brings. For one moment all can be forgotten. For one moment there is no past. Just the now. 

Bucky pulls away before you hit your peak, ruining the orgasm and making you groan in frustration as you blink stupidly down at him. He grins lazily while palming his rock hard cock through his pants with his flesh hand. He sucks his metal fingers clean, moaning freely as your flavor hits his tongue. Hot eyes watch you the entire time. Then, he grabs you by the back of the knees and forces you down over his lap and ruts up against you, enjoying the friction and the spreading wet patch you create. 

The straps of your dress are forced down your arms, exposing the tops of your breasts, and he sucks a dark hickey into the flesh. You can’t help but moan at the feeling before fumbling with the buttons of his pants. You needed him. Now. Desperately. It’s been too damn long since you’d had him or anyone else. 

Giving up on coordination, you split the seam of his pants down the middle, pretty much ripping the front right out of them and taking his underwear with it. He springs free like an offering, eager and thick and hard as steel, to fall against you. You lick your palm and grasp him firmly, giving one long, tight stroke before lining him up and sinking down heavily over him. Even with prep Bucky nearly splits you in two. He’s deliciously thick, just long enough to hit all the right spots, all the places you’d forgotten only he could reach. 

“Fuck!” you moan, squeezing your pelvic muscles around him. 

He whimpers and thrusts into you, palming your breast, his other hand resting tightly on your waist. Bucky doesn't hold back. He fucks you like a man possessed. He lets you hear every moan, every gasp. He kisses you fiercely. Possessively. Claiming that which was his from the beginning. “Mine!” he growls. He releases your breast and wraps his hand around your throat. “You are mine,” he states, giving no quarter, no room for argument. 

“God! Bucky!” 

He lifts you and rolls with you, placing you on your back so he can spread your legs wider allowing him to go deeper. He moves slowly, drawing it out, forcing you to feel every long, sinful inch of his cock, watching your face intently the entire time. “Baby,” he moans. “I need you to tell me. Please. Fuck!” he swears as you wrap your legs around him, slotting your heels into his lower back as you grind upward, lost in the haze of pleasure. “Say your mine. Say you’ll be mine.” 

You arch violently, and your hands dig into the metal floor. “Yes! I’m yours!” you scream as your orgasm rips through you, taking you high, making you see stars before you tumble from the heavens in a headlong dive of shaking limbs and throbbing nerve endings.

Bucky claims your lips as you come, drowning out your cries of ecstasy. Soon, he spills inside you, growling like an angry wolf as he does.

 

Minutes pass while the two of you recover enough for Bucky to realize he’s crushing you and rollover, his hand sliding beneath your hips to hold you tight as he does. “You destroyed my suit,” he remarks dryly once he’s situated on his back again. 

Laying on his chest, thoroughly spent with him still buried inside you as he softened slowly was oddly comforting. “We destroyed the elevator,” you retort, indicating the carnage around you. 

He snorts and chuckles. His arm tightening a little more. “What happens now?” he asks camly. There is a faint hint of worry in his tone. An uncertainty of what this all means, and you can’t blame him for it.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you sit up as much as he’ll allow and regard him closely. He looks wrecked but still so damn handsome with eyes of smoky blue grey filled with tender emotions. You trace the line of his jaw, then run a finger over his lips. “What do you want to happen?” 

“I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” he answers instantaneously. 

You suppress a smile but can't manage to keep the corners of your lips from twitching. “It’s not going to be easy, Bucky. We have... issues.” 

“I know, but we can work through it. God, doll! These last few months have been torture. I love you. I need you. I want you. Give me a chance to prove it.” 

You lean forward and kiss him softly, your lips moving lovingly against his. He runs his hands up your side and sighs breathlessly into the kiss. 

“Ask me again,” you murmur against his lips. 

“What?” 

“Ask me again about what happens now?” 

Bucky smiles and cups your jaw. “What happens now?” 

You stare at him for a few long heartbeats of time. There is an entire lifetime’s worth of memories running through your mind. Every touch, every intimacy you shared is laid bare along with all the hurts, all the joy, and all the laughter. You had an eternity with him, entire lifetimes to be shared between you. 

You were going to make every moment count. 

You stroked your fingertip over his lower lip, following the curve, determined that this time - this time - you were going to do things right. The past would no longer cloud the future, but it would remain a reminder of how far you had both come. But life with him, with Reyna, with the team, that was what you wanted. A real life. A happy life. A life full of memories. 

This time, you were going to grab it with both hands and hold on tight.

Tugging gently on his lip, you leaned closer until yours were a hair’s breadth from his, and smiled. “Now, my love, we live.”


End file.
